The Hunger Games: Lord of the Mountains
by Jordan the Hutt
Summary: Before Panem, and after America, the wealth of the mountains was reaped by seven families who settled there; they supported the districts in the rebellion and with their failure, they were attacked and defeated by the Capitol, and were scattered (in some cases destroyed). One group settled in District 12. Their scion will defend their honour in the seventy-forth games. OC/Katniss
1. I: On My Own Terms

**Hello everyone, my name is Jordan the Hutt and I'm here with my first ever solo story! It is, as you can tell, a Hunger Games story; I suppose I should tell you a bit about it, primarily my character: I'm basing this quite a bit off of the movies, because I have never read the books (unfortunately)—thought I should clear that up right away. Next, I want to tell you that I am inserting quite a bit—primarily about the main character Hadrian's lineage. I'll post a sort-of prologue telling about it later (probably. I'm pretty unpredictable), but for now, I'll tell you this: before Panem, after America, seven (well, eight, but we don't talk about the eighth) families settled in the mountains near the place that would become Panem. They brought riches out of the mountains and accumulated great wealth, and were quite friendly with the Districts before the Rebellion; after the Rebellion, they were attacked one-by-one by the Capitol and defeated, although they nearly decimated the Capitol's armies. Most of them settled throughout the Districts (those that escaped, of course), with Hadrian's settling in District 12. They are warriors, all of them, and train their children—so Hadrian's gonna be pretty badass. Like I said, this is my first ever solo story, so there might be a few errors, characters may be OOC, but just bear with me, please. ALSO, I think that you can figure out—but I suppose I should say it anyway—this story has MANY references to The Hobbit in it… well, actually there's constant references. **

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><p>The gentle dancing of the leaves as they flutter in the breeze is music to my ears. I sit in silence and listen to the symphony of the outdoors, closing my eyes and smiling slightly at the still peace of the wilderness. The crickets and birds sing and I begin to loosen my grip on the worn wooden bow in my hands, letting the arrow slide from the bowstring, causing it to fall and hit the grass with a small crunch that sounds much louder than it should…<p>

Half a moment, arrows are not that loud… ah, yes! My dinner has arrived.

A small deer, a doe, to be exact, with brown fur and a white tail and underside, with several white spots dotted across the top of her body, has stepped into a clearing nearby. "Foolish animal," I whisper, a slight smirk stretching across my face (try saying that three times fast!). I slide the arrow back into the bow quietly, and in one fluid movement, I draw the bowstring taut and the arrow sings through the air like a streak of light, spiraling into the doe's side like a screw. Blood seeps from its side, though it's not dead. It rears up on its hind legs like a tiny horse and dashes off to the right; it continues for several feet before being felled by an arrow from an unseen archer.

"Dammit Catnip!" I cry out, my voice breaking the silence that has once more settled over the forest after the commotion with the deer. The constant noises are continued when my best friend, Katniss Everdeen, steps out from behind a tree. With her long, silky black hair and grey eyes, we could almost be related.

But we're not.

"Come now, is that any way to talk to your best friend?" she asks with her trademark smirk, walking toward me. She's wearing a simple red shirt and a pair of black pants and her hair is not tied down as it usually is, helping to accent her grey eyes. I look at her with a glare of mock anger, then she laughs a little and says, "Really, Thorin, you should see the look on your face right now."

I wink at her; "You know, the way you're staring so intently at my face, I'd almost guess that you wanted to kiss me." I say with a smirk, striking a pose.

…Oh! Where are my manners, how could I forget? My name is Hadrian Marlowe—affectionately known as Thorin, due to my apparent family characteristic of (as time goes on, of course) looking like the character from the beloved story _The Hobbit_—a quite well-kept edition of which also happens to be a closely-guarded family treasure, even through the probably hundreds of years we've had it.

"Who'd want to kiss something like that?" Katniss mocks, making a retching noise. Then she laughs, a soft laugh that sounds like chiming bells; one of the many things that has drawn me to her… oh, did I say that out loud? …Erm, mentally?

Forget about that… seriously. If you value your lives, you will forget that I mentioned anything of the sort… not kidding.

"Jeez, Thorin," my other best friend, a tall guy who shares a similar look with Katniss and I named Gale, says as he steps out from behind a bush that is a couple meters away from me; "I thought you said that you'd never lose a kill to a girl."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Katniss asks, mock glaring at me and putting her hands on her hips. Gods, she's so… no, I'm not gonna give you anymore blackmail material!

Anyway, in reply to her question I say, "It means that I can outkill you any day."

"Is that so?" Katniss replies with a wry smirk—my God, that is so… stop it! If I tell you how we met, will you not blackmail me?

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><p>(<em>Begin Flashback<em>)

The leaves fell gracefully around Gale and I as we stepped through the forest, quietly and carefully. We had lost our fathers earlier that month in a mine explosion, and now we were the primary caretakers of our family (although my older brothers were a great help, because they were adventurers and treasure hunters, often bringing home many artifacts and items worth quite a bit, albeit not often between returns). Gale was fourteen and I was twelve, almost thirteen, and he and I had mere snares to catch our prey—not the bows that came with Katniss's addition to our group, though we did have a few shoddy wooden javelins that my father taught me to make before his death.

"C'mon, Gale, let's go check the snares," I said as I lugged a nicely-sized boar that I took down with a well-placed javelin to the neck.

"Alright, Thorin, alright," Gale said tiredly as we moved toward one of his snares, which was placed between two trees. Sure enough, three rabbits hang by it. And also…

"Hey, is that… someone?" Gale asked me, pointing to a form huddled by the rabbits.

"Yeah… I think so. Do you think they're stealing the rabbits?" I asked quietly.

"Hey!" he yelled, startling the form. "Stealing's illegal, you know."

"I wasn't stealing," the form replied after getting over the shock. "Just admiring the work put into the snares." It was a female's voice.

Gale and I walked toward the person, and came to find that it was, as previously stated, a girl. Her appearance was very similar to Gale and I's; she had long, black hair and olive skin, with steely grey eyes. However, she eyed the boar hungrily as I sat it down, and she had the typical look of a starving person: sunken face, very skinny, and an emptiness in her eyes.

I recognized her at once: Katniss Everdeen. Her father had been killed in the same explosion that took our fathers, and I had seen her at the memorial ceremony (I think that's what it was called) at the Justice Building, where the mayor had handed us medals.

But they were worth nothing.

She stood proudly in the sun, not crying whatsoever. As the oldest, she was given a medal in honour of her father; same to Gale, and, though I wasn't the oldest, I was the oldest of my siblings that was present, so I, by default, was given it.

But now, she crouched in the leaves, a bow in hand, and a quiver of arrows on her back, looking like a walking corpse. "Could I see that?" I asked, pointing to her bow.

She studied me carefully, but after a minute, she relented. "Sure," she said with a sigh; "just remember that stealing is illegal."

Gale grinned a little at me. "Seems like she has a similar sense of humour." He said.

"What, dry?" I said softly, examining the wooden composite bow. I admired the curve of the elastic limbs and the tenseness of the bowstring; I brought it up and drew back the string, remembering the sorts of combat training that was reinforced in my family since we settled in our Homeland, which we had named The Lonely Mountain—yes, like the one from _The Hobbit_. I'll explain it all later. "This is some fine craftsmanship. Who made it?"

"My dad did," she said dryly, swiping the bow back. "I let you see my bow. Can I see your spear?"

"It's a _javelin_, thank you very much," I responded, narrowing my eyes. "But… I guess."

I handed her my javelin, and she took it gingerly; she balanced the shaft in her hands, and said, "This is so smooth… and light. Almost like an arrow."

"That's the point of a javelin. It's best used for throwing—gains momentum as it flies," I explained, "and pierces the prey about as much as a sword."

(_End flashback_)

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><p>From that day we had joined forces as hunters, and later friends. She taught us how to use bows (well, more of <em>Gale<em>, seeing as my family's combat training covered bows)—Gale and I taught her about snares, and I instructed her in the javelin.

And none of our families ever went hungry.

And now, we are returning to our homes, to prepare for the annual Reaping. The story behind the Reaping is a long one—long ago, after the end of a country named America, and after my family settled the Lonely Mountain, the country of Panem, where we live, came into existence. It had a shining Capitol that reigned over thirteen outlying Districts. The Districts were, with the exceptions of 1, 2, and 4, starving and poor, while the Capitol had plenty of food and no shortness of riches.

One day, the Districts finally had enough and rose up against the Capitol in a rebellion that shaped the course of history even now, seventy-four years since; my family and the six other major families that settled in the mountains supported the Districts openly, even sending our own troops—though they used swords, axes, and other weapons—not guns. However… the Capitol crushed the rebellion and declared war on us—which seemed madness, seeing as we had hundreds of thousands in our ranks, not even combined (VERY large families, all related in some form or other, and no, no inbreeding whatsoever), but they still defeated us. They started with our relatives in their mountain kingdom of Moria, who made a brilliant final stand and almost won, with the help of our cousins in the aptly named Blue Mountains, who swept in and attacked the Capitol's forces from behind.

But the Capitol had hovercrafts, and even about a million well-trained Mountain warriors were unable to bring them down; all were slain.

Then they systematically took out the rest, finishing with Erebor. They charged in like a dragon, fast and powerful, leaving pure destruction in their wake. They broke through our gates with a practiced ease that could only be gained by doing that to others, but were met with walls upon walls of sharpened, forged steel; many were slaughtered upon mere entry.

Out of all the mountain kingdoms, we put up the best fight—nearly decimating their army. But eventually, my great-grandfather Dain, the chief of Erebor, led a final charge in the night… and the Capitol had been waiting for that. As soon as they heard the battle cry, they opened fire and tore through the ranks of our men, killing Dain and most of the troops. Most of our women, children and an unknown amount of men fled to the Districts, seeking aid…

…But no help came from the Districts. Not that day… nor any day since.

"Bye, Thorin, bye, Gale," Katniss says as she breaks off to go into her home. "Meet up in the meadow after the Reapings?"

"You bet," Gale says. "May the odds be ever in your favour," he mocks.

"Bye, Catnip." I say, blowing a kiss to her.

She smiles briefly and then she's gone, leaving Gale and I to finish the walk. We make small talk as we usually do—neither of us are exactly talkers. We reach his house, which is almost a carbon-copy of Katniss's: one story and run-down, made of sun-baked brick with a few windows. "I'll see you later, Thorin," Gale says, raising his hand for a high-five. I clap my hand to his and he pulls me in for a hug.

"Later, brother," I say with a smile. I continue walking toward the mountain that the District's coal mine is built into; nowhere near the size of Erebor, yet a nice substitute—the mine barely cuts into it whatsoever. My family lives in the halls that were carved long ago into the mountain, which we call Ered Luin, after some of our trading relatives had set up in District 12. It's comfy and warm, though according to some of the elders of my family, nowhere near as great as Erebor.

I walk up the path that goes over the mine entrance, a sturdy path made of cobblestone, worn through the years. As I step up to the top of the path, I flip a switch and the stone face of the mountain slides apart for me to enter—an ingenious defense created by my grandfather and his brothers about sixty years ago—and I am overcome by a feeling of happiness; I am home.

"Welcome back, my son," says my mother as she steps forward and engulfs me in a hug.

I suppose I should tell you about myself now; I am sixteen—seventeen in about seven days—and I have very long black hair that goes down past my shoulder blades. A fine coating of black stubble that I have never once shaven—"a warrior's pride is his beard" is a major family motto—covers my face, and my piercing grey eyes shine like daggers in torchlight (or so I have been told—and yes, we use torches for light). I am about six feet tall, very tall for my family (most of us have a tendency to be very short) and typically wear a grey shirt and pants, with a fur vest over it for warmth. A pair of sturdy black leather boots are worn to provide protection to my feet, and typically I conceal a knife in each boot, and carry a small silver flute—which I can also use as a club if need be.

I smile at my mother. "I am glad to be home, mother; though I can't say my hunting went well."

My mother looks a lot like me—though more woman-like, with softer features and less facial hair. She smiles. "Don't worry. You can always go back after the Reaping." I nod, and she adds, "Get dressed. You are the last representative of our family, you must look nicely in the event that you must fight." She kisses my forehead and leaves me.

I go to my room and contemplate what to wear to the Reaping. I've always considered what I always wear nice, especially with the fur vest, so I just pull it a little tighter and immediately head out for the square. I walk through block after block of rundown houses and ruined fences, until we get into the centre of the District: a slightly less dreary place, especially now that the midday sun is shining down on us. A large crowd of teens, mostly dressed in grey clothes as well, is gathered there. A stage is set up with multiple television screens and lights, with an army of white-clothed Peacekeepers holding guns. A few lines are formed in front of a series of tables, where more white-clothed Peacekeepers sit with devices for pricking fingers and scanning blood, with books to place the blood samples in.

"Thorin!" I hear a voice call. It's Katniss's little sister, Prim—who ironically looks nothing like Katniss, with blonde hair and blue eyes, as well as fair skin. She wears a light blue blouse and pants, and she is waving to me. She is twelve years old, so this is her first Reaping year.

She and her sister stand at the back of a line, so I join them. "Tuck your tail in, little duck," I say, smoothing out the back of her blouse and earning a giggle from her. Katniss mock-glares at me and says, "That's MY line!" but she laughs all the same.

"I see you've changed up your wardrobe a bit," she mocks, tugging at my vest. "I see you've put on a new vest… and shaved, apparently." She adds sarcastically.

Prim looks shocked. "Did you really shave?!" she cries in disbelief, though she starts giggling when I begin to stroke my stubble.

"A warrior's beard is his pride. My beard may not be fully grown, yet my facial hair shall dominate any opposition. I am Hadrian son of Gloin; fear me!" I bellow, pounding my chest.

Prim giggles a little more, despite the obvious jitters from her first Reaping, and hugs me. "How could I fear such a big teddy bear?"

"…Dang it, Prim, you made me smile. I'm supposed to be the most feared warrior in the land; I'm the only scion left to fight for Erebor in the Hunger Games! Anyone to face me would die!"

Prim giggles and I continue doing things like that until it's her turn. "Don't worry, Prim, you'll be fine," I reassure her with a smile. She steps nervously to the Peacekeeper.

"Thorin, Gale and I will come and find you after the Reapings. Just join the other twelve-year-olds and stay there." Katniss says, hugging her sister tightly. The little blonde girl runs off, her twin ponytails bouncing. Katniss steps up to the Peacekeeper and holds out her hand, and has her finger pricked. "See you later, Thorin," she whispers to me, patting my shoulder.

I smile to her and step proudly up to the Peacekeeper. Without them needing to ask, I stick out my hand; they prick my finger and press it to the book page, and read the device. As per usual, I step into a crowd with the other sixteen-year-olds, including Katniss. Per usual, the mayor walks up to a podium to give some boring speech about Panem that—of course—mentions nothing about Erebor or any of the mountains. Then, the escort for the District 12 tributes, Effie Trinket, pretty much struts up to the podium, sporting an incredibly outrageous pink wig, piled high with huge curls.

She wears a red coat with various odd baubles covering it, and a black skirt and heels. Her pale skin looks almost pink with all the makeup applied, and she speaks in an incredibly annoying voice. "Welcome, everyone! Time to decide which courageous young man and woman shall represent your District in the Seventy-forth Annual Hunger Games!" …Just shut up already, none of us cares. We know that District 12 is gonna lose. As usual.

"Well, ladies first, I suppose!" she trills into the microphone. She walks over to a glass bowl that is filled with names. She sticks her gloved hand in and makes a swirling motion as she finally plucks a name out. She pulls the tab out and clears her throat, before saying, "Primrose Everdeen!"

Shit. No… no, it can't be… this is her first Reaping, that's not possible… "Those fucks…" I growl out. I know what Katniss is going to do now. As soon as Prim starts walking up to the stage, she pushes her way through the crowd and yells, "I volunteer!" she practically screams it, then calms down and says, "I volunteer as tribute."

I can't let Katniss go in alone… I have to do this. My family can easily survive without me, and Gale's an apt enough hunter to feed his family and Prim and Katniss's mom…

I clench my fists tightly and force a swallow, glaring daggers at the ground. Part of me wants to pull the knives from my boots and murder the Peacekeepers, but let's face it—even the natural warriors of Erebor couldn't fight them all, let alone an almost-natural warrior. "What's your name, dear?" Effie Trinket asks Katniss, pulling her up to the microphone.

"Katniss Everdeen." She chokes out, barely audible.

"Everdeen? I'll bet that she was your sister, eh?" Trinket says. Katniss merely nods. "Well, I'm sure you'll make her proud," she says in a not at all sincere tone; she moves over to a bowl opposite the girls'. "Now for the boys!" she cries.

Doesn't matter. I'm going anyway. She does the same circular motion before plucking out a name. She reads: "Peeta Mellark!"

Nope. "I volunteer." I call, pushing my way through the crowd.

"Two volunteers? What a surprise!" Effie calls with an excited trill.

"Get your damn hands off me," I growl, shrugging off the Peacekeepers' grip as they begin to escort me up to the stage. They glare at me slightly, but allow me to go on.

"What's your name?"

"I am Hadrian Marlowe, and I will thank you not to touch me," I add with a pointed glare, jerking my arm out of her grip.

"Mm, touchy, I see." She says with an amused smirk. Katniss looks at me like, "What the hell?!" I just shake my head at her and mouth, "We'll talk later."

"Here you are, District 12! Here are your tributes!"

Instead of the cheers and applause our escort expects, as Katniss steps forward, the people of District 12 press their middle, index and pointer fingers to their lips and hold them toward her. It's a sign of goodbye.

Effie pulls me forward to end the awkwardness, and instead of the action, my family begins to sing.

_The king beneath the mountains, _

_The king of carven stone,_

_The lord of silver fountains_

_Shall come into his own. _

I know this song. My mother used to sing this to me all the time as a child… soon the entirety of the District joins them.

_His crown shall be upholden, _

_His harp shall be restrung,_

_His halls shall echo golden_

_To songs of yore re-sung_

They are singing to me… they have faith in me, but not in Katniss? The hell is this?! …Besides, my brother Thrain is first in line to be King… that is if we had a kingdom to rule, and he returns from this latest journey.

"Come with me now, dears," Effie Trinket says, grabbing Katniss and I by the arms and pretty much dragging us toward a car. She gets in, then two Peacekeepers force us in and we are driven to the Justice Building. It stands tall and forbidding, with a dark wooden exterior and high, dark windows. Little lights blink in the two topmost windows, giving the impression of eyes, and the double doors stand wide open like the gaping maw of a giant beast.

Or a dragon.

You're loving my little Hobbit references, aren't you?

Effie sits chatting the whole ride, mostly about the Capitol and asking questions about us—which I promptly do not answer. Katniss and I do not speak. She does not look at me.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please leave a review, possibly favourite and follow, because it gives me inspiration to keep writing it! No hatesflames will be accepted, so just good reviews or constructive criticism! I hope you have an excellent day/night, whatever it is! **

**~Jordan**

**P.S.: **

**If any of you want to know about Master of the Rangers or Fire Emblem: Bond of Brothers ( a co-op on Never An Honest Word's page ), I don't have a definite date, but expect some new chapters soon! Yes, even Fire Emblem is still going-you've got to realize how hard it is to coordinate these, even for Fire Emblem ( we all live in the same house! It shouldn't be this hard, but it is! ). A chapter for FE is about 89% done and for Rangers... about 61%. **


	2. II: A Sworn Oath

**Hey guys, Jordan here with the latest, long-awaited chapter of The Hunger Games: Lord of the Mountains! To be perfectly honest, I **_**hate**_** how long it took for me to get this out, but I've got the best explanation I can muster up in the closing section. So yeah, read on. Also I should mention that on this chapter, despite my original plans to do this story on my own, I had a bit of help from my roommate Chase. Not like, beta help, more like legitimate storyline and writing help. So thanks brother!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, Lord of the Rings, or anything that I make any sort of allusion to in this story, and I most likely never will without some sort of epic hostile takeover that I probably don't have the guts for.<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter II: My Sworn Oath<strong>

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

I stand beside Effie Trinket on the platform, steeling myself though inwardly I'm shaking. My thoughts stray towards who will take care of Prim in my absence—though I do not doubt that Thorin and Gale will provide happily—and who I will be going in with. When Effie reads the name, "Peeta Mellark!" I immediately begin to think, '_Oh no, not him…_' and I begin to remember the boy who tossed me bread so long ago… until…

"I volunteer." I know that voice. I know it almost as well as I know my own: the calm voice of my best friend. I look out into the crowd and quickly find him, as he is quite easily one of the most imposing men in the District, distinguished by his height and bulk, and by his always calm demeanour. However this time, I can see traces of fear in his grey eyes, and hear a slight quaver in his voice.

Two Peacekeepers move to escort him up, though he shakes them off and glares coldly at them, refusing to move at anyone's pace but his own. He steps up to the platform, his boots making heavy thuds on the wood, and crosses to the other side of Effie, making brief eye contact with me as he passes. He rebuffs Effie's touch and gruffly introduces himself, and then we are herded off to a car which will take us to the Justice Building.

The ride to the building is silent and somewhat awkward, or it would be without Effie's unremitting talk about the Capitol and stylists and such; quite boring, to be perfectly honest. I steal a few glances at Thorin, but he keeps his eyes fixed forward, the normally mirthful glimmer in his eyes cold and distant. How I wish I knew what he were thinking right now…

"Oh would you look at that; we're here!" Effie says in that high voice of hers. I notice Thorin pinch the bridge of his nose and grumble something about shutting her up with his axe; I snort in amusement slightly, and I catch the tiniest traces of a smile on his lips. The car door opens and the two of us are escorted into the building by a pair of Peacekepers.

The Justice Building is quite easily the tallest manmade building in all of District 12; I say manmade because since Thorin and his family live in a mountain, well… it's just not a contest. The building has two glass doors for an entrance covered in an overhang of stone and wood; the outre layer of the building looks to be made of a similar mixture, with several antennae along the top that when looked at from the right angle can be seen as horns; lights shine in windows on the topmost floors giving the impression of one of the creatures Thorin would tell stories about when we were out in the woods, just having fun; what were they called…? Oh, yes: orcs.

The Peacekeepers brought us inside and into elevators that were creaky and old and smelled like… cat piss? I feel like they've never been cleaned… heh, Catpiss Neverclean. That's what I ought to introduce myself as at the interviews… those idiots in the Capitol would get a _real_ kick out of that one.

My snickering to myself must have gained the attention of Thorin, as he sends a glance my way. "What's so funny?" he asks quietly, not caring about the harsh stares of the Peacekeepers.

My lips quirk upward as I reply, "I was just thinking what would happen if I introduced myself as Catpiss Neverclean." Thorin doubles over, shaking and obviously on the brink of laughter. Glad to have melted the ice between us… the ice whose formation I have no clue of. The old elevator finally creaks to a stop and a pair of doors slide open, and we are herded out into an austere hallway with rich velvet carpets and blank walls. The Peacekeepers show us to rooms across from one another and force us in. I give Thorin a small wave before he is gone from my view.

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><p><strong>(AN: I'm not going to do Katniss's POV for the goodbyes because it's going to transpire exactly as it did in the book. If you want to see it again, well… read the book :3 )**

_Thorin's POV_

Okay, I'll admit—the Catpiss Neverclean joke was actually quite funny. But, eh… where was I supposed to start again? Oh yes; Katniss and I were separated into two different rooms, and they were most likely very similar in appearance: bare walls the colour of coffee, a velvet armchair with a matching couch large enough to seat two people, similarly coloured carpet, and a brown side table with a fern on it, and a small window with bars on it—in other words, all in all quite depressing. I chuckle darkly as I slump down into the armchair; I have doomed myself for sure. It is not that I cannot win, it is that I have resigned myself to protect Katniss with my life.

"You have five minutes," the Peacekeeper says as the door opens widely and my mother and youngest elder brother (named Frederick) walk in together. My brother looks remarkably like me, albeit significantly shorter, and with a fuller beard than I; he wears a similar outfit of a fur-lined vest with a black undershirt and black pants. A slight smirk adorns his tanned face, and a jagged scar stretches diagonally across from his forehead to his chin; the handle of his favourite hatchet is visible just under the hem of his vest, hanging from a strip of cloth sewn to the inside.

"My son," Mother says, embracing me in a tight hug, barely coming up to my chest in height. After a moment of her incredibly strong grip, she steps back and beams proudly at me. "You have done well."

"Aye, little brother." my brother says, patting me on the shoulder. "I had always assumed this would happen, should the situation arise. I am proud of you, Hadrian."

"Thank you mother, thank you Frederick," I say with a small smile curving across my lips. They look upon me (both looking quite literally up at me, as I am a full head taller than both of them, at least) with pride shining in their grey eyes.

"Hadrian, I pray you take your flute with you as your token," my mother says, handing me the silver flute. "You left it in your chambers; I believe it will be of use to you."

"Right! You can use it as a club to bash the hell out of somebody," Frederick says with a grin; my mother hits him gently on the back of the head, although not without a smile on her face.

"No, Frederick! Do you remember how your grandfather allegedly prevented an uprising amongst some miners? He played for them on his flute the songs our ancestors created back in Erebor; perhaps the same would work for you," she says proudly.

The Peacekeeper raps gently on the door. "Time is up."

My mother hugs me tightly once more, and my brother does the same before they both leave. Soon after the door opens once more and one of the only people in the District taller than myself steps in.

"Thorin," Gale says, the tone of his voice uncertain. "What were you thinking?"

I look at him, the smile falling from my face, and I whisper, "I have to keep her safe."

He puts his hand on my shoulder gently. "She's strong, Thorin. She can handle herself in a fair fight."

"That's the point! I don't trust them not to gang up on her, not to do some sort of sucker punch!" I say fiercely, a fire burning in my eyes. "Whether or not she wants it, I'll be two steps behind her at all times. I'm not going to let her die."

"And what will you do when it's the final two?! Do you think she'll kill you?!" he replies, his voice hardening.

"If it comes down to it..." I say, my voice becoming softer. "...I'll take my own life."

Gale's hand falls slack from my shoulder. "...Just how much do you care about Katniss?" he asks quietly.

"...I'm not completely sure, but it's a great deal," is all I can say.

"I'm sure it is. And I know you will protect her." he says, looking into my eyes. "You are my best friends, Thorin, you and Katniss both. You're like my little brother and sister... and I'm afraid that I will lose you both."

"Do not fear, Gale. It will only be me," I say grimly, hugging him tightly. After a moment he pulls back and we shake hands firmly, then he walks out.

"Goodbye, Thorin," I hear him say before the door closes.

"Goodbye, Gale." I say in a resigned tone, aware of the apparent finality of the situation. "I swear I will protect her... on my honour and the honour of my family..." I pledge to myself, my hand grasping my silver flute that now rests in the pocket of my vest. "That is my oath... my forefathers, I pray you give me the strength."

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><p><strong>And there you have it, folks. The end of the long-awaited chapter two! This was honestly shorter than I wanted, but I didn't want to put the train ride up until next chapter, which I am getting to work on RIGHT NOW. I suppose I don't really have a legitimate excuse for this, except for my creative well dried up and I was in a slump; I really couldn't write anything, to be honest, because the weight of f*cking college assignments and exams and everything... but anyway, a message from a reader by the name of CalebElBardo (epic name by the way!) brought me out of this little dry spell with some helpful suggestions and corrections. So I'll say this real quick-thank you so much! The narrations switching between chapters was already a part of my plans, as well as your idea for the games (at least the first part, that is). Either way, the fact that you took the time to PM me about all this really gave me inspiration, hope that this was actually being well-received by people. I'm quite glad to know that, because quite honestly I thought that this wouldn't be liked very much because of it not being a canon character (*cough*Peeta*cough*) that gets together with Katniss. <strong>

**Also, I don't think that I should have to tell you folks that I'm going to cover all three books in this, with the possibility of adding in a fourth book of my own to bring together a climactic final battle. But, ah, some of you may be wondering where/when Haymitch will come in. The answer is... on the train! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it; favourite, follow and review, because it gives me incentive to make more and make them better! Have an excellent day/night/week/month/year, and if I don't get another one up by then, have a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!**

**~Jordan**


	3. III: Inexorable Death

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, Lord of the Rings, or anything that I may reference in this story.**

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><p><strong>Chapter III: Inexorable Death<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

A few minutes after Gale leaves, the Peacekeeper opens the door and beckons me forward. I once more meet up with Katniss in the hallway, and I offer a small smile when we make eye contact, which she returns briefly. We are led back into the elevator and down to the bottom floor, then to the train station where a high-speed Capitol train waits for us; it is sleek and pearly white, with black lines on every other car, with several windows to look out of. Though I've never rode one myself, a relative who lives in District Six (whose ancestors hailed from the Blue Mountains) has, several times before—because he is a victor from a previous Games—and he claims that these have the capability to move at speeds of up to 250 miles an hour. The white-uniformed Peacekeepers usher us onto the train and into one of the cars, where Effie Trinket sits, conversing with a hungover-looking man.

The train car is a perfect example of the Capitol's luxurious and over-the-top lifestyle: the walls are panelled with dark wood, intricately carven in a skill that despite its undeniable beauty would not come close to rivalling the skills of even apprentices in the Lonely Mountain. A carpet and drapes of similar colour to those in the Justice Building furnish the room, managing to look more expensive than they did in the drab "cells" of the Building; several flowers of multiple colours and wonderful paintings are placed liberally about the car, and two long mahogany tables with rows of chairs are placed about five feet apart from each other, and each is laden with food of gourmet quality—though I must wrinkle my nose with distaste. They seem to be lacking an essential staple in my diet: wild game. Effie is swirling a fruity-looking drink around a crystal glass not unlike something the craftsmen from Moria used to make, whilst the man is hunched over a flask, a curtain of blonde hair covering his face.

As the door slides closed behind Katniss and I, Effie looks up with a shake of her curly pink hair and gains a bright smile. "Ah! There they are," she says, leaping to her feet quickly. She walks over to us, staggering a bit for a moment before regaining her balance; she grabs us by our wrists and drags us over to the man, and bids us to take a seat; I take one across from the man, and Katniss sits beside me. "Katniss Everdeen, Hadrian Marlowe, might I introduce you to Haymitch Aberna—oh, Haymitch! Haymitch, wake up!" she says, shoving the man's arm.

"*Snore* …Huh? What…?" he says, looking up; his face shows signs of wrinkles and stress, and his eyes betray pain and sadness, much like those of my mother after my father died. He looks up from his flask and turns his gaze on us, then slurs drunkenly, "Oh, these two the new blood? And I use that term lit-lit-literally *hiccup*"

I tense at his words, looking into his eyes icily. I clench my fists tightly, nails digging into my palms; "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I spit, voice dripping with poison.

"Well shouldn't it be *hic* obvious? You two are probably gonna be dead in minutes," he replies, matching my cold voice.

As we stare at each other across the table with gazes sharper than the "knives" they provide on the train, Effie whistles to break the tension, which is thicker than the tea Katniss makes… er, not the time for that. "So, um, Haymitch Abernathy, this is Katniss Everdeen," Effie introduces, putting a hand on Katniss's shoulder, "and you seem to be acquainting yourself with Hadrian Marlowe already." She adds, touching my shoulder gently, though I jerk out of it.

"I'll say it once more, _I will thank you not to touch me._" I say harshly.

"Feisty, are we?" Haymitch sneers, though instead of hatred it seems to radiate more… frustration. "That'll get you far, indeed. Far enough to get an axe embedded right…" he lifts a fork and moves it around before poking me right above the eye, "there!"

I bite back a retort, knowing very well how he won his Games: something I can only consider as a great slew of skill and intelligence, and despite my own brute strength, I believe it would be for my own best interests if I listen to any advice he would give me. Therefore despite my instincts I bite my tongue (literally) and stare into the white crocheted tablecloth.

"So Catpiss, what about you?"

"It's Katniss," she and I correct at the same time; we briefly share a glance.

"Whatever," Haymitch dismisses with a wave of his hand. "So, _Katniss_, what are your skills?"

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

"So, _Katniss_, what are your skills?"

This man has quite honestly been infuriating so far; I can tell just by the way he is sitting that he has struck a nerve in Thorin. My best friend's eyes would have burned a hole in the table by now if they had the capability; darkly chuckling, I reply sarcastically, "About the same as him, except I'm not a musclebound idiot like he is."

Thorin snorts and Effie looks dumbfounded. Haymitch sneers slightly and says, "Hmm, let's see. My first impression of this group: I don't like either of you." He takes a gulp from his flask and slams it hard onto the table. "I'm going to bed." The blonde man stands up and slides his chair back into place harshly before storming to a door opposite the one we came in through.

When he is gone, Effie sits down and looks harshly at us, sighing. "That wasn't exactly helpful, you know."

Thorin shrugs and says gruffly, "I was merely treating him with the same courtesy that he was treating us with."

"You do not have to be courteous to each other! Trust me, I've tried," she adds in a slight whisper, "but you _must_ try and be civil, at least. It is him that secures your sponsors and gives you crucial advice that could help you out of a tough spot," she says, then lowers her voice once more, "and between you and me, it is really tough for him to see the tributes die every year like they do… especially that year where the boy from Six slaughtered nearly everyone with an axe alone."

Thorin shifts nervously in his seat at that, chuckling awkwardly. Effie quirks an eyebrow upward at him; "Oh? Find something funny, do you?"

"No, nothing, just, uh… nothing." He says after a moment. There's something he's not saying… obviously.

Effie studies him briefly before waving it off. "Very well; you may retire to your rooms if you choose, they'll be serving dinner in an hour." And with that she moves toward the same door Haymitch left from. "And you would do wise to remember what I said."

And thus Thorin and I are left alone. The silence between us is… different; typically the silence between us is due to reason, like when we are hunting. But this… we have never been completely silent. I don't know what to say to him; I don't know whether to be mad that he volunteered or relieved to know I have someone I know going into the Games with me, or saddened greatly that one or both of us may die.

For as long as I have known Thorin, never have I seen him make his feelings clear to anyone besides myself, and no one I know can read him better; but I can sense nothing from his posture, nor can I glean any knowledge from his eyes. His facial expression is stoic, and his black hair falls into his face, and I must admit, he looks kind of handsome. "Thorin?" I ask gently.

"Aye?" he asks softly, not looking up.

"…Nothing. I'll talk to you later," I say, standing up slowly and brushing my hand on his shoulder as I walk out.

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

"…Nothing. I'll talk to you later," she says, leaving the room. I feel her brush my shoulder gently, and I can do nothing but sigh.

I know I have sworn to protect her with my life, but is it not natural to rethink one's decisions? If I keep the honour of my family intact, that means I must give up my own life; perhaps that was a rash decision.

Am I wrong to be questioning myself as I am? To be upset that I have resigned myself to death? I sigh audibly, shoving my hands into my vest.

Briefly my hands glance against something cold and metal, and I remember my flute; I fish it out and hold it in my hands tenderly. "Perhaps some music shall calm my nerves," I say, remembering of how we would constantly play music in the halls of our mountain home. I bring it to my lips and mutter, "Is this my fate? My inexorable death…?" and begin to play **(A/N: The song he plays is Zelda's Lullaby from Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time)**. I let my cares fade away as the melody become all I think of.

This goes on for several minutes before I feel my eyes drooping shut, and I gingerly lay the flute on the table. Soon after I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>So there ya have it folks! I won't be able to update tomorrow, Thursday or Friday because of finals, but I didn't have anything to do today so I figured I'd crank a quick one out for you guys. Nothing really to say here, besides wondering if any of you guys caught the Naruto reference I put in here, or even the Fire Emblem Awakening reference? Because that one is pretty blatant if you've played the game ;) . Anyways, thanks for reading! Be sure to favourite, follow and review and have a nice day!<strong>

**~Jordan**


	4. IV: The Curse of Arnthorr

**Disclaimer: Me still own nothing. Like I said, not even the house is mine.**

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><p><strong>Chapter IV: Curse of Arnthorr<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

After what seems like moments, though in reality is several hours, my eyes blearily drift open and I take in the sights once more: the panelled walls and polished tables laden with decoration and food, respectively; the richly carpeted floors and high-arched windows; and Haymitch poised to poke me with a fork…

"What are you doing?" I ask dangerously, narrowing my grey eyes.

"Just wanted to make sure you were still alive," he says with a shrug. He takes a seat next to me. "Enjoy your snooze? It's six in the morning, kid."

"Oh really? Past sunrise and you're still sober?" I joke, with much less venom behind it than there was yesterday. A smile tugs at my lips as I raise my head from the table, leaving behind a pool of… drool?

"It's hard to drink with all that drool there," he replies in a similar manner. "Here, you look thirsty," he grabs a crystal glass and slides it over to me, and a woman in a red robe fills it with some orange liquid. I sniff at it uncertainly, causing Haymitch to laugh slightly. "Haven't you ever seen orange juice before?" I shake my head slightly. "I didn't think so. Ever had an orange?" I nod. "It's basically like that in liquid form."

"Oh. Good to know," I say. Back at home in our mountain, our drink of choice is mostly various types of wines, water or milk. I sit up straight and wipe my mouth with my sleeve, then lift the glass cautiously to my lips, watching Haymitch cautiously.

"It's not poisoned if that's what you think." He says, his lips quirking upward slightly.

I take a sip and find myself taking another, gulping it down greedily like a drunkard at a keg—how ironic considering the person who passed the drink to me. Haymitch chuckles a little and says, "You look like you're a regular old Victor."

I set the glass down and wipe my face with my sleeve and return the smile, though somewhat half-heartedly. "This drink, I like it. ANOTHER!" I say, smashing it against the table just as Effie walks in with Katniss, the former eliciting a good old shriek whilst the latter has a ghost of a smile on her face.

"What was that?" Katniss asks, walking over and taking a seat beside me.

"It was delicious, I want another."

Effie, after overcoming her little panic attack, says immediately, "Well you could have just said so!"

"I just did." This earns a big sigh from Effie.

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

I can't stop myself; I have to laugh at the antics of Thorin, I mean Effie practically fainted from seeing him smash the glass like that. He brushes a bit of glass out of the way with his large, callused hands. Haymitch eyes him as he does so, and after a moment he seizes one of the hands.

"You. Hadrian. Those are some nice calluses you have there, kid." He says mysteriously. "Ever use an axe, or even a hammer?"

Thorin's eyes widen slightly at the mention of an axe, but he nods. "Aye." He says simply.

"I'd expect nothing less from a Marlowe. Strong much?"

"He can lift me clear over his head," I interject. Haymitch snorts.

"You don't look like you weigh all that much, sweetheart," he responds.

Thorin then says with a nod, "Aye. Strong enough."

Haymitch nods, then turns his sights on me, prodding the air with a fork. "How about you, Everdeen?"

I nod my head from side to side and then say modestly, "I'm a fair shot."

"Better than fair, I should say," Thorin says, turning his head and smiling at me; I have to blush a little at his praise. "Never seen a straighter shot."

Haymitch nods impatiently. "Alright, alright, but what about your survival skills? Fire-making, gathering, shelter-finding?"

"We can do all of those," I say immediately, "and we can track."

Haymitch grins. "Looks like District 12 might have a bit of a chance this year," he says, taking a swig from a wine bottle. "So I'll tell you what. You two listen to me, and get some culture training from Effie because you're going to need to impress people, and I'll do my best to help you out in the Games. Deal?"

Thorin and I nod as one and reply, "Deal."

* * *

><p>As I retire to my bedroom later that night, I lay quietly atop the bed, too caught up in thought to move. No matter how hard I try to stray to other thoughts, my mind keeps returning to one thing…<p>

"Thorin…" I whisper softly, turning onto my side and looking out the window, out at the stars streaming by the train at incredibly fast speeds. I quickly roll over and struggle to hold down my lunch. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to will sleep upon myself. But… suddenly I hear the sound of a flute drifting through the car. I push myself up and rub my eyes slightly, smoothing my pants down and walking across the carpeted floor to the door. I turn the nob slowly and poke my head out, looking up and down the hallway.

The sound of the flute stops, and a voice rings out loudly, sweet and clear:

"_Nothing will grow here, icy fields blackened sorrow,_

_Legacy of a lost mind, feed my void, what you're waiting for…_

_I'm too late, it is more than a game, the river reveals now I'm in between these lines…_

_I cannot escape it seems, sail on my friend…"_

Turning my head and craning my neck to search for the voice, I finally notice that it is coming from the door at the left end of the hallway which leads to a small platform. Taking slow, deliberate steps from my room I walk down to the door and open it up, slowly stepping out onto the platform. Leaning over the railing, eyes shut and flute in hand, is none other than Thorin.

"_All I ever feel is, all I ever see is_

_Walls they fall when the march of the Others begins,_

_All I ever feel is, all I ever see is,_

_Rise and fall when the war of the thrones shall begin…"_

As I slide the door shut slowly, Thorin's lips quirk upwards into a small smile. "Good evening, Katniss." He says, opening his eyes.

"What was that?" I ask, not accustomed to hearing him sing, let alone in such a beautiful voice. His voice is usually gruff and unrefined…

"A song of my people. My ancestors bore it from the Destruction and to the mountain, then to District 12. My brothers taught it to me when I was a child." He says, smile widening. I walk up to the railing beside him and place my hands on it, feeling the cold steel and watching as we speed away. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No. I've just been wondering… why did you volunteer?" I ask softly, leaning over the railing. "You know only one of us can win."

He sighs heavily and puts his hands behind his neck, smiling slightly. "The curse manifests itself again, I suppose." He laughs a little.

"The curse?" I press on, wanting to hear his reasoning.

"The Curse of Arnthorr. It runs in my family, you see," he explains, taking a deep breath, the smile still on his face. There's something going on, I know it—he never smiles this much. "It started with the fourth king, Arnthorr son of Ingolf. Before an established peace came between the Mountain Realms and the other survivors of the Destruction, there was an eighth mountain that preyed on survivors in the South. Arnthorr sacrificed his life to destroy that mountain and save hundreds, and now in every generation of my family… someone has given their life to save another." I look down at his hands and see that his knuckles are white, that he is gripping the railing tighter than he would his javelin. "Do you know what really happened to my father…?"

"He died in the mines," I say, but he cuts me off.

"Do you know why he was in the mines in the first place?" he says gruffly. I shake my head and he says, "He too fell to the curse. We felt the tremors from our home, heard the explosions. As my eldest brothers were out on an adventure, my father took it upon himself to try and save as many miners as he could. He got a few out, but…" his breath catches in his throat. "The last words he said to me… 'Hadrian… I would trade all the wealth in the mountain that you should not fall to this curse.' "

"Thorin you of all people should know that you have more of a chance to win than me," I say softly.

"But you will win. I have sworn an oath to protect you with body and shield," he responds, his voice shaky. "My family always fulfills their oaths, even if it should cost them their lives."

"You may be wiser than your brothers, but you're a fool, Thorin!" I say harshly. "I can protect myself; do you think I'm going to kill you if it comes down to it?!"

He looks down at the tracks speeding away like streaks of moonbeams. "Then I will finish it myself." I see tears streaming down his cheeks in small beads. He trembles slightly, and at first I believe it is from the chill of the outside, as he is wearing no coat or jacket, not even his vest.

"…Thorin?" I say softly, placing a hand on his forearm gently. His skin is cold to the touch. "You're cold…"

He looks up and opens his eyes, fear shining in the grey orbs. "I'm scared, Katniss," he says through a choked back sob. "All my life I've been told of the tales of bravery exhibited by my ancestors, and all my life I've wanted my own tale," he sniffs and takes a deep breath. "I've heard of how they all faced death head-on without fear, even Arnthorr who tapped into a volcano, and my father who leapt straight into the explosion…" he heaves out a sob and continues, "but it never prepares you to face death yourself… and I'm terrified."

I've never seen him this way, scared and vulnerable… he has always been like a rock, strong and unmovable, never betraying any negative emotions. Now his façade has fallen away and I see him for how he really is… as Prim has always seen him: a big teddy bear. As he stands there, tears streaming down his face, trembling, I feel something rising up inside of me.

Then out of instinct, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest—which I only barely reach, might I add. He is surprised at first, though after a moment he gently puts his around me and returns the hug. I rub his back in slow circles and remember how my mother used to comfort Prim and I when we were upset. "Shh, shh… it's alright," I say softly. She told us what to say to ease someone's fears, but how can I tell him that we'll both be fine? One of us must die if the other is to survive… his skin is still cold. "Come on, Thorin, let's get you inside." I take his hand gently and lead him inside, to the room across from mine. I slide the door open and take him in there, coaxing him to lie down on the bed and I cover him with a blanket, then I kneel beside him and gently stroke his hair.

"Thank you," I hear him whisper to me.

I smile slightly in response. "It's the least I can do," I say softly, standing up and kissing his forehead gently before walking out of the room, taking one last glance at him.

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><p><strong>And there you have it folks! I wanted this chapter to show a bit of a softer side to Thorin, and give insight to a bit of his family history. The song I used earlier was "War of the Thrones" by Blind Guardian. Anyway, some of you may think Thorin seems a bit out of character in this chapter, but as I said, I don't want him to be just that stoic, seeming confident young man; if you had sworn to sacrifice your life for someone, even a very close friend, would you not be terrified nonetheless? <strong>

**Anyway, in response to CalebElBardo's questions, for the first one: Thorin is capable of wielding swords, axes and javelins, though he prefers the sword when at all possible, but if he must he will use an axe or a hammer if necessary. As for your second question, I do plan for Johanna to be a much more important character, and will be central for their first journey to the Lonely Mountain. I have been considering love interests for her, because I too feel like she was robbed by the author, and she deserves a happy ending, so it is very likely that one of Thorin's brothers will be her eventual love interest. I really do want to thank you, though, because you keep giving me ideas of things to elaborate on and think about, so thank you very much!**

**Lastly everyone, thanks for reading, and as always, if you liked, follow/favourite, maybe even leave a review. Hope you all had a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays if you don't celebrate Christmas, and have a happy New Year!**

**~Jordan**


	5. V: Thus Begins the Countdown

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. No, my Precious, we owns nothing! Certainly not our teethses, which we only has four of!**

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><p><strong>Chapter V: Thus Begins the Countdown<strong>

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

Early in the morning we arrive in the Capitol, and I wake up right around then. The sun looks like it had barely been out but there are already crowds yelling and screaming. I make my way into the dining car, half expecting everyone to be up and waiting, but instead all I find is Thorin, wolfing down a large breakfast consisting of nearly two loaves of bread coated in heaps of honey and clotted cream and milk. After jamming half a loaf into his mouth (it actually looks rather funny) he looks up and waves to me.

After chewing and swallowing, Thorin wipes his mouth and grins at me. "Good morning!" he says quite happily compared to last night. I had anticipated him to still be afraid when I saw him today but rather his smile is lighting up the room, and I can't help but smile in response.

"Good morning! You seem happy," I answer, but soon he furrows his brows.

"What do you mean?" he asks, and I give him an inquisitive look. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" I tilt my head slightly, and he just shakes his head and smiles once more. "Did you sleep well?"

"I could ask the same to you after last night. Are you feeling better?" I ask, concern veiled in my tone.

"Yes, thank you," he says softly, looking down at his plate. "I wish I hadn't done that, but oh well. Did you sleep well, though?" he bids me to sit down. "I hope the crowds didn't wake you."

"Eh, it was roughly then," I say in response, taking a seat. He hands me a plate and soon the servers come by and fill it with all sorts of food. "But I slept well, thanks. It… took a moment, but I got there."

"You're overthinking things, aren't you?" when I nod my head slightly, he smiles. "I expected as much. What's on your mind?"

"…Everything," I say after a moment, biting into a strip of bacon and tearing off the meat. Still chewing, I continue: "When we're hunting, we have an idea of what we're going into, I mean we've been in the forest so many times…" I down a gulp of milk, "but this… we can't prepare for this, Thorin! As skillful as we may be, we don't know what the terrain will be like, we don't even know about the other tributes!" He snorts a little at this. "Oh? Do you know something?" I quirk my eyebrow slightly.

He smiles the tiniest bit after swallowing half a loaf. "I watched the Reapings in my room last night."

"But you were on the platform being a crybaby!" I say half-teasing.

"Maybe so, but I couldn't sleep, so I watched the overview of the Reapings on Capitol TV. I know the others' names and have a basic idea of their body types and such," he replies, and one of the unspeaking servers comes over to pour him some more milk, though instead he grabs the jug and takes a great gulp from it. "I should be able to fight them with little to no problems."

"So you go from blubbering sissy to confident, calculating machine? You're just like your brothers," I say with a small smirk. "And that's not necessarily a good thing," I add under my breath.

He grins a little. "I'll do anything to protect my precious people," he says, "and to do so at the cost of my own individuality is a deal that I will take."

Shortly after that the train comes to a stop at the station, and Haymitch stumbles into the dining car followed by a dishevelled-looking Effie, the latter looking as if she had just dragged the former's drunken ass out of bed. "Come _on_ Haymitch! We have just arrived in the Capitol and we must _not_ be late!"

Haymitch laughs drunkenly and slurs, "Ah, shut up and gimme a smooch, sweet cheeks~" Thorin laughs audibly at this, surprising all aboard, even the stumbling drunkard, who looks up, wide-eyed. "Mother of the gods…" says Haymitch.

Thorin stops mid-laugh, the signs of mirth still etched into his face; he looks around and says, "…What?" he notices the wide-eyed and open-mouthed expression shared by all of us aboard, even the servants who have stopped to gape. "Screw you all, it was funny!"

"…Kid, to be perfectly honest I had thought you lacked emotions," Haymitch says blankly.

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><p><strong>(AN: Warning, the language in this part is going to get somewhat more mature than it has been, though when you understand the situation, you'll get why)**

_Thorin's POV_

A loud growl utters from my throat as I thrash about at the uniformed men and women with hair in odd styles and unnatural colours.

"Can somebody hold the kid down!" one of them yells.

"Gods, he frickin' bit me!" another shouts—he's not wrong, my teeth are sunk in his arm as he yells that. "Little bastard bit me!"

"C'mon kid, just give us a break!"

"I warned you all," I snarl haughtily. "You were not to touch my beard, though you did not heed my command; I merely retaliated for such insubordination!"

"…Kid, were you in like, the nuthouse or something back in Twelve?"

"Well they did refer to my family's home as the looney bin, but that's for an entirely different reason," I respond calmly, stopping mid-thrash. "And if you speak of that to anyone, I'll rip your arms off."

"Oh, how lovely," says the one I bit, quite happy that my teeth are no longer stabbing into his arm.

After a moment of awkward silence and serenity, all hell breaks loose again. In this small, blank room in the Capitol, I've been stripped down to nothing but a white gown; my legs, much to my displeasure, have had the hair waxed off of them; and now these people are attempting to remove my beard—er, stubble, but you know what the hell I mean!

"Kid, just settle the fuck down and let us shave you!"

"I'LL GIVE YOU PARASITES—PARASITES AS BIG AS MY ARMS!" I shout, thrashing out and nearly smashing one of them in the ribs. Two of them grab my arm and inject something into it, and I'm out before I even know it…

* * *

><p>An unknown amount of time later, I awaken, laid out on a table in that same room—or it appears to be the same room; I cannot be sure if they moved me whilst I was asleep. Unconsciously I move my hand to touch my own face, and…<p>

"…"

…what…? I feel smooth… that means…

"SON OF A BITCH!"

"Ah, I see you are awake." A steel door slides open with a hiss and in steps a fair-skinned woman with long black hair tied up in a ponytail; she appears to have no obvious body alterations, very uncommon for a resident of the Capitol. Her grey eyes betray no emotions, and her voice does not have the usual Capitol accent; lastly, her outfit consists of a white sweater and black pants, as well as black shoes. "Good day."

"Good day." I say civilly; I am sure that she means no harm—in fact, she gives off the feeling of a mother, or aunt, or even a sister.

"You are Hadrian, yes? Is there anything you would prefer to be called by?" I tell her that I would like to be called Thorin, though I do it politely. Her lips curve upwards slightly; "Very well, Thorin. My name is Arwen; it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," I say with the smallest of smiles; I suppose I can at least be civil to her. After all, it wasn't her who took away my beard.

She sits down in a small chair across from me. "I am assuming that you know what my job is."

"To make me look presentable," I say, adding a bit of a sarcastic undertone to 'presentable.' "Your cohorts who came before you said as much."

Her smile widens a bit; "In a way, yes; but I must ask, is it true that you bit one of them?" at my nod, she presses on with, "Why?"

"Pride," I say simply, though not unkindly. "They tried to shave my beard; I was merely defending my honour."

Arwen laughs; "I am afraid that the Capitol requires it to be that way. I gave no such command." She notices my smile and then says, "However, your answer, whilst I do not disagree, was not entirely correct; I am here, with my good friend Cinna—who is in charge of Ms. Everdeen—to help you make an impression, to help you gain sponsors and possibly even allies; I hear that the District One tributes often respect those who are well-dressed."

"And the Chariot Rides are up first, yes?" I ask, preferring not to dawdle on these matters.

"Yes. Tell me, Thorin," she says, using my preferred name. She gives me a small grin when she asks, "You're not afraid of fire, are you?"

* * *

><p>And that, friends, is how I came to be where I am now; awaiting a possible fiery death in an outfit that, in all honesty, looks somewhat ridiculous as it is right now. I am wearing a black, tight-fitting leotard with black boots, and a long cape that seems like tongues of flame. Each District has their own room for their chariots, and all I'm really waiting for is Katniss to appear. Arwen stands a ways to the side, her arms crossed. "I do hope that Cinna appears soon," she says after a few minutes of waiting.<p>

And lo and behold, not a minute after, a young man walks in; he is very much a contrast to Arwen, in the sense that he has dark skin and brown eyes, though their hair is the same shade. He, too, seems to lack any body alterations. "Ah, Cinna! It is about time, my friend." Arwen says with a smile.

He simply smiles at her, then turns to me. "You are Hadrian?"

"Thorin," a voice corrects; walking into the room is my best friend in the world, Katniss Everdeen, and I must say, she looks… breathtaking. I'm not going to get into much detail at all, just that she is wearing a similar outfit to mine, and that it, ah… does not leave as much to the imagination as one would hope.

"Thorin, sorry," Cinna says, offering me his hand. After a moment, I tear my eyes away from Katniss and shake his hand; it is a firm one, and his eyes appear to be very soft and kind. "I am Cinna. Of course, you've met Arwen."

"So what will we be doing?" Katniss asks as she walks over and stands beside me. She gives me a gentle smile as her hand brushes gently against mine.

"Step onto the chariot," commands Cinna.

"And you're both sure you are not afraid of fire?" asks Arwen, grinning slightly.

"Yes, we are sure." Arwen pulls out a small lighter.

"Wonderful. 'Cause you two are going to be on fire. Literally."

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

After explaining to the two of us that the flames are merely synthetic and would not burn us, we both felt a lot better. As Cinna and Arwen explain everything to us, I can't help but notice Thorin shall we say… appreciating… the form-fittingness of my leotard; a tiny blush crosses my face…

N-not that it matters to me! S-shut up!

However, I can't help but admire him as well… er… shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!

Cinna clears his throat, and we both whip our heads up toward him quickly, causing both him and Arwen to laugh. "Go out there and wow them, you two." Cinna says.

Arwen nods in agreement and adds, "You represent District 12 when you are out there; you represent yourselves, us, Haymitch and Effie, and your families as well," she says, glancing over at Thorin. "Now go; impress them."

The chariots start into motion and the horses draw us out into a building where the other chariots are congregating, preparing to move in order out onto the streets of the Capitol. At last a thought strikes my mind: "Hey, Thorin?"

"Yes?"

"Did you notice something about Arwen?" I wonder aloud.

"I noticed many things."

"But I mean… did you notice? You and her, the way you two speak—it's very similar."

"Hmm… now that I think on it, yes, I suppose we do speak in a similar manner," he says, only further reaffirming my thoughts.

Perhaps there is more to this woman than I previously thought…

* * *

><p><strong>And there you have it folks! The fifth chapter of "The Hunger Games: Lord of the Mountains!" At this precise moment, some of you may be wondering why Katniss acted like she did with Thorin, and I will say this: hers is the same as Thorin's. Neither of them were very social (in the books I do believe that Katniss herself says the only person she considered a true friend in the first book is Gale) and as such have had little experience of any sort with the opposite sex, aside from each other, so there is bound to be a bit of curiosity on both sides. Now, instead of Portia, who was Peeta's stylist, I have decided to bring in someone who you may recognize if you have readseen Lord of the Rings: Arwen. I'm not going to say much more for fear of spoiling part of the plot.**

**Now as always I want to thank everyone for their reviews, particularly the ever-faithful CalebElBardo, who had shot me a PM just before I finished this chapter; I've gotta say, friend, you're really good at guessing what's going to happen. **

**Finally I want to apologize that it was almost a month between the updates, however I let my own personal life (New Years' Eve ftw) and college get in the way of my writing. Before I go, however, I'd like to try and pull something on my housemate, Chase (well, technically I'm **_**his**_** housemate since he actually owns the house); you see, earlier today his fiancée had come upstairs with Chase's old Care Bear and one of those movies, and basically made him watch it, and us guys have been giving him crap for it (even though we mean nothing by it, we'd do the same in his situation). If you don't mind, I would like for at least one of you (if you have the time) to go onto one of Chase (a.k.a. Never An Honest Word)'s stories and simply type in a review, "How goes it, Tenderheart Bear?" It doesn't matter which one of his stories, but I'll be very happy if one of you does it. Perhaps if I see the review, I'll give you a shoutout :3**

**But anyway I suppose that this AN is getting long enough, so…**

**Take care, brush yo' hair, I'll see ya when I see ya, PEACE!**

**~Jordan**


	6. VI: Find Your Courage

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything. I don't own The Hunger Games, I don't own Lord of the Rings, I don't even own the dog I'm petting as I type this.**

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><p><strong>Chapter VI: Find Your Courage<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

The chariots wheel into motion, drawn by beautiful horses of many different colours. As they trot from our holding areas, towing us behind them with a slight lurch, we all pass into a central area that is wide and open, though with somewhat low ceilings and a few concrete pillars supporting the place. The sound the horses' hooves make as they move echoes off the walls and becomes louder than I would prefer them to be, but alright.

As the first tributes leave the building (District One, of course), Katniss and I brace ourselves for what will most likely be a long wait, considering we are at the very end of the line. "So, how do you like all this fire?" Katniss asks in a joking tone.

"Well, as many times as you and Gale have came close to burning my ass—literally, I might add—I have come to respect, but not fear fire." I say, cracking a small smile. "Though I must say that I have never sweated quite so much, it was always my dear cousin Bertholdt who perspired so much."

Katniss laughs a little; upon my questioning look, she responds: "It's just funny how you talk. One moment you'll be your usual formal self, then you become all sarcastic, and if what Cinna told me is true, you've also got a raging side to you." I at least have the decency to blush when she mentions that. "Did you really bite one of them?"

"Nearly took his ear off," I said, looking down; though it was not without a bit of pride evident in the tone. She laughs loudly, looking undeniably pretty, despite the flames dancing all around her. "They were touching my beard, what was I supposed to do?"

"Well if it were anyone else, I'd say just sit there and let them," she begins, smiling, "but since I know you so well, I'd have to agree with you." Katniss still shakes with fits of giggles—I can honestly say, though, that I have rarely heard her be so… girlish.

It's kind of weird.

As the chariots creak onward, I can catch glimpses of the other tributes—the pair from District Ten are dressed up as cows; what a shock there. The ones from Seven are trees, again no surprise. The pair from Four are interesting, though: one is dressed up as a traditional fisherman, whilst the other is wearing a fish suit. Katniss and I look at each other and as one say, "…The hell is going on with Four?"

The tributes from One are dressed in pink furry outfits with feathery headdresses and other things of luxury; I can only laugh. Katniss looks at me strangely and after my laughter slows, I respond: "Back home someone would get beaten for wearing something like that… personally, I can't wait for the Games so I can end them."

Finally, after several minutes of cheering and screams from the Capitol, we finally enter the street, and all the din stops. Everyone goes silent for a moment as we creak out, our fiery capes blazing. Katniss and I smirk at each other; "Well then," I say quietly, causing her to giggle.

The parade heads down the street as the cheers become louder and louder the farther _we_ go. It is not the more glamourous Districts that they cheer for, it is us; the king and queen of fire. Instinctually my hand moves and grasps Katniss's, and after looking at me for a moment she accepts it, and the two of us lift our hands in solidarity. The cheers build up into a roar as she and I pass further, the Capitol undoubtedly moved by our statement of friendship and somewhat defiance.

Someone tosses a rose to Katniss, and she catches it with a bright smile; she starts blowing kisses to people in the audience. Personally, I'm ignoring my instincts to extend my middle finger at these people—a behaviour that was taught to me by my brothers. So, in an attempt to push down that instinct, I clench my free hand into a fist and raise it in the air, pumping it up and down and occasionally beating my chest like a savage (or my brothers… though there is very little difference for some of them).

Finally we reach a paved circular area in front of a great mansion, where none other than President Coriolanus Snow stands on a flowery terrace, prepared to give a speech. Large television screens are situated above the crowds on the left and right, and displayed on the screens are us garbed in our fiery cloaks, looking upon the citizens of the Capitol with confidence and power.

Finally President Snow raises his hands to silence the crowd and clears his throat to address us.

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

"Welcome, welcome," President Snow says in a deep voice; he then proceeds to his usual speech about the struggle with the Rebellion and the eventual victory of the Capitol. I catch Thorin muttering some profane words and tensing when there is no mention of the mountains; he isn't happy.

Looking away from the President and to the giant screens, I see something that I rarely see in Thorin: happiness. His eyes shine with it, and he is very close to smiling. I must admit that he does look quite handsome, completely clean-shaven and his hair tamed; a tiny bit of makeup has been administered around his eyes to make them stand out, and his bodysuit is… quite fitting.

And myself, vanity be damned, I look beautiful. They've given me mascara and blush, and applied lipstick and even put something inside my eyes to make them sparkle; they have also painted my nails to have the appearance of small flames burning.

"Katniss," I hear Thorin whisper to me. I turn my head slightly and he continues, "D'you think I might be able to buy some pot from Snow **(1)**?"

"…What?" I ask incredulously, tilting my head. After a moment he sighs and shakes his head, telling me never mind.

After some time President Snow's speech concludes and he bids the nation good night, returning to his mansion. The chariots pull us a little further to a building much like the Justice Building back home, though much taller and much less rickety-looking. We are all escorted inside by a group of Peacekeepers, and then separated by District into elevators. Ours takes us up to the very top, where Haymitch, Effie, Cinna, Arwen and their crews await us. We have some dinner before the others decide to go to bed, Haymitch having to be carried off by Cinna and Thorin, leaving just the latter and myself alone.

"Are you ready, Katniss? Tomorrow we start the training; we cannot slack." Thorin says gruffly, though not unkindly. He offers me a small smile, though behind it there's something—frustration, perhaps? Maybe sheer cold planning?

"I know. I'm going to be as ready as I ever will be, I suppose." I respond quietly, returning the smile.

He chuckles a little. "Good, that's good… but you must find one thing as well." His chuckling sounds deeper and older than usual. "Your courage. You'll need it, Katniss Everdeen." He turns away and starts walking toward his room. "Good night."

After a moment of allowing him to walk away, I run after him and tap his shoulder. When he turns around, I wrap him in a hug; "Thank you, Thorin. Good night."

* * *

><p><strong>Well there you have it! I do hope that is satisfying enough for now, but when I was reading the book I found the Pre-training part quite boring. There's not really much I have to say here, although to those of you who celebrated Valentine's Day I hope you enjoyed it; I personally didn't celebrate it, because I don't have a girlfriend. Either way, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! <strong>

**As always thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed feel free to leave a review, or just drop a favourite/follow to let me know that you like the story! Lastly Happy Valentine's Day, hope you all had some success with your sweethearts of choice ;)**

**~Jordan**

* * *

><p><strong>One last thing<strong>**: where I marked (1) on the "D'you think I might be able to by some pot from President Snow", that is a joke I've been wanting to make for **_**literally so freaking long.**_** For those of you who do not know, in the movie, President Snow is played by Donald Sutherland, who in the 1980's played a pot-smoking professor in one of my own personal favourite movies of all time, **_**National Lampoon's Animal House**_**. Just prepare yourselves because there are gonna be a **_**lot**_** of Animal House jokes incoming.**


	7. VII: Soon You All Shall Be Free

**Disclaimer: Me own nothing. Not a fricking thing.**

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><p><strong>Chapter VII: Soon You All Shall Be Free<strong>

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

"_Blind my eyes, and still I can see through the mist,_

'_Till the very end where I'll face what I fear the most,_

_Blind my eyes, but it all doesn't matter right now!_

_I will bury my dead and keep on until the end, I won't give up,_

_I'll turn to the red fields of none, there's a grave, there's a rose, _

_Drift away! I can hear me say, soon you all shall be free,_

_Carry the blessed home, no one's left here but me, and I'll sing out your name…_"

As my eyes slowly open, I can't help but smile at the sound of Thorin's voice. Though not as soft and melodic as it was on the train, it is still undeniably beautiful, and has an incredible range. One moment it is quite low, though when it comes to the end it becomes very high.

I sit up in my luxurious Capitol bed and gather the sheets up around me, fighting off the cold for a little longer. Looking around at the… _objects_ around me—I can't even describe them, as I have no idea what most of them are; they seem to be overly complicated versions of common household objects, for instance there is what looks like a desk with several looping cubby holes and spinning devices upon it, and a dresser with uncountable numbers on it.

Shutting my eyes once more, I think back to District 12; if it were any normal day, Gale, Thorin and I would likely be hunting now, or just getting out there. Perhaps Thorin would be singing some sort of song to keep us entertained, or telling a story of an adventure his brothers once took; or maybe we would just be walking in silence. A small smile crosses my lips as I listen to Thorin, my thoughts drifting to the forests of back home.

"_Blind my eyes, and still I can see through the mist, _

'_Till the very end, where I'll face what I fear the most,_

_Blind my eyes, but it all doesn't matter right now,_

_But it all doesn't matter right now…_

_Matter right now…_

_Matter right now…!_"

When Thorin's song comes to an end, I push myself out of bed and stand barefoot on the carpeted floor; slipping into a pair of slippers left to me by Cinna, I walk into the adjoining bathroom and go about the mundane tasks. Once I finish, I dress in a robe and walk out into the sitting area, where Thorin sits cross-legged beside Arwen, Cinna and Effie whilst Haymitch is asleep on the floor. The three adults seem transfixed by Thorin as he sings more, his melody softening even Arwen's stoic face.

"_The mirror shows truth, reveals what you are!_

_A phoenix in flames, rise from the ashes again!_

_Run away, now… run away, now!_

_We sail through miracles, dream on if you dare,_

_Straight through the mirror, we'll sail on through the end,_

_There's magic everywhere… wake up when the crow will call!_"

Thorin's grey eyes slowly open as he ceases singing and looks over to me with a smile. "Good morning!" he says cheerily.

I must say, he has been undeniably happier since arriving. I return the smile and respond sarcastically, "Good morning? Your damn songs woke me up, Thorin." I rub my eyes and fake a yawn.

"I meant no harm," he says innocently, though not without a trace of mischief gleaming in his eyes. "Though I had to sing to drown out that confounded snoring of yours, not even Haymitch was able to sleep through it."

I let out a laugh, walking over and sitting beside him, punching him on the arm. "Ass. So what were you singing?"

"Songs that have been passed down in my family since before the Destruction; the first was both a funeral march and partially a war cry, and the second was a lullaby and war cry," Thorin explains, a soft smile adorning his face.

Around us the adults are coming to their senses, and Arwen is the first to speak up; "Thorin, I fear that they may consider your voice a weapon and remove your vocal chords."

Thorin laughs, though Cinna sputters at this imagery; he pipes up and says, "What she means is—"

"I know what she means." Thorin interrupts, waving him off. "Thank you, Arwen, perhaps my voice will keep the tributes at bay as I slay them."

Arwen smiles and Effie sits there open-mouthed; I cannot tell if she is surprised or just still entranced. Then she speaks up, "Mr. Marlowe, I must ask you not to say such things! It is most improper for a contestant to speak of killing the others during this stage."

"Stuff it, Effie, let the kid talk however he wants," Haymitch's sleepy voice slurs. He sits up, eyes half-closed; "Kid, I'll tell you st-str-straight… you look like you could… could… *_burp_* rip some'n apart with your bare hands. Talk about slaying all you want." And with that he fell back asleep.

"Oh, very well!" Effie huffs, "But I suggest you get ready. We are expected in the Training Room in less than an hour!"

* * *

><p>And thus an hour later Thorin and I find ourselves down in the Training Centre with all the other tributes. It's a large and very spacious room filled with all sorts of training equipment, from swords to axes, camouflaging stations to plant identification stations, and endurance and strength stations. A few Peacekeepers are stationed around to both keep an eye on the tributes and also to serve as partners—after all, it is quite honestly a horrible idea to let tributes fight each other before the Games begin.<p>

After a brief speech by Atala, the head trainer for the Games, we are all allowed to do as we please. Thorin generally sticks by me, though not necessarily participating in certain stations. He gives me a bit of instruction in close combat—both hand to hand and with weapons—whilst I put these into practice against a Peacekeeper who seems to be acquainted with Thorin; I believe his name is Alexander (which also happens to be the name of one of Thorin's brothers). Alexander mentions that I don't have much strength to me, or the weight to pull off many of the more powerful takedowns, but I can be fast and get some quick hits off.

It's the same with the dagger Thorin teaches me to use—instead of its much heavier brother the sword, or even the spear or axe, it is light and swift, just like me; with just a few precise movements and strikes, a dagger can be very dangerous, even in the hands of a novice such as myself.

When he stops Alex and I mid-spar, I tense up. He walks over and I look around cautiously, worried that the other Peacekeepers will say something—but no one says a thing. Thorin has a small frown on his face as he says, "Katniss, that is not a proper stance." He places his hands on my shoulders and commands me to bend my legs slightly and assume a stance that is like riding a horse; he then takes an arm and guides it into a certain position, with the knife held out front angled toward Alexander and my empty hand held open behind the knife hand. I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and a small blush creeps upon my face. After a moment, he pulls away with a smile; "There. Better."

He doesn't seem to notice my face.

Now whilst Thorin knows most of the same survival skills as myself, he lacks one crucial thing—stealth. There is a reason that when we are hunting we tell him _not_ to move about; when he moves through the forest he often sounds like a behemoth crashing through the trees.

Of course, the same can most likely be said about all of his brothers.

Either way, after a bit I take Thorin to the stealth station; there are three paths, one covered in leaves, another in grass, and another rocky. The goal is apparently to move silently through the path.

It takes him some time, but eventually he is able to cross the foliage-covered path with relative ease. He eventually figures out to avoid stepping on the leaves as much as possible, moving through only the clear grassy spots.

According to the Peacekeeper in charge, the grass path is merely a test to make sure that their student is not an incompetent fool.

However on the rocky path, that is exactly what Thorin is. After about fifteen minutes of this, I laugh and tell him to forget it, and to avoid scaling any mountains.

* * *

><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

At lunch I can't help but notice that the tributes typically group up with their own District partners, though there are quite a few who sit alone. An incredibly powerful-looking boy from District 11, whose name I have learned to be Thresh, is one of those people. He and I stood next to each other in line for an endurance test and we would pass jokes back and forth; he's a lot like me, stoic, quiet, preferring to let his actions speak for him. But all in all, he's a pretty nice guy.

Holden, the male from District 10, also sits alone; he's tall and thin, but I can see a bit of muscle on his body. He was friendly enough, the two of us having made general small talk over a strength test. He didn't necessarily say much, but he was quite helpful and likable.

I offered to let both of them sit with us, but each time they turned me down. And so it was Katniss and I at our own table, myself eating three loaves of bread and honey and a small bit of steak, and Katniss with some lamb stew and bread. As I shovel the bread almost completely down, we hear a small stifled giggle from behind us. Turning my head, I see the little girl from District 11 sitting behind me, all by herself. I frown a little; she shouldn't be in the Games. She's too young.

"Something funny?" I ask with a smile on my face, trying to sound kind.

"Sorry," she says, turning back. "I didn't mean to bother you…"

"Nah, it's fine. You can sit with us if you want," I offer, gesturing to the chair beside me.

After a moment of thought, she smiles in response and takes the seat. "Thank you… my name's Rue, by the way."

"I'm Katniss," says my best friend with a bright smile.

"Hadrian, though you may call me Thorin." I introduce.

Rue, Katniss and I talk about our homes, occasionally cracking jokes about family members (my choices are rife, as the crap my brothers get into is always noteworthy). Eventually Alexander, the Peacekeeper who helped in Katniss's close combat training joins us, and I greet him with a bright grin and a pat on the back… after all, he is my brother—he is the fourth eldest, three spots ahead of myself.

This passes on and on as we talk and laugh, and eventually I discover a bit of a kinship for the little girl; she's very sweet and kindhearted, but also has a bit of self-control, as shown when Katniss offers her some more food after hearing her stomach growl, though she refuses it. I'll do what I can to protect her as well, if not for seeing her as my own sister but for Katniss as well.

* * *

><p>At the end of the day, the tributes are all escorted back up to their floors, and we are no exception. However, I do not stay for very long. There is a garden at the top of the building, and I go there seeking out a bit of peace. I sit cross-legged beneath a small tree, eyes shut as I sing softly.<p>

"_Passing through the flames, I see how terror will rise._

_It soon will be over, O father of lies!_

_Like foul winds at twilight, it's coming over thee,_

_What was and what will be, what is I don't know!_"

After several minutes of quiet, I hear the door slide open with a hiss. A form takes a seat beside me and I know that it is Katniss; I know the very way she walks, breathes.

Also I don't think Thresh would rest his head on my shoulder.

"It's beautiful up here," she says softly, leaning against me.

"Yes, and quiet too."

She chuckles softly. "You sure do like your quiet, don't you?"

"It gives me peace of mind, I am able to think."

"Calculating as your brothers, I see."

"Well what can I say? I've spent my whole life with them," I respond wryly. "After all, Alexander is certainly a good tactician." I cannot help but wonder if she has made the connection between my brother and the Peacekeeper with whom I seemed acquainted.

"I have a question about Alexander… he was that Peacekeeper today, was he not?"

"Yes, very good." I grin, opening my eyes. "I doubt any other Peacekeeper would be so lax about what happened. Except maybe some of our friends back in Twelve."

She laughs softly, a sound that sounds beautifully in my ears. She says nothing for a moment before yawning. "I'm sorry I can't be of much company, Thorin, but I think I'm going to go to bed."

"It's alright. Your sleep is important," I respond without any sort of regret in it. "Good night, Katniss."

"Good night, Thorin."

Before she stands up, I feel something against my cheek; I realize that it was her lips. I raise my hand to my cheek and touch the spot slightly, and smile. I turn my head to look at her, and she is smiling softly at me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

><p><strong>AND THERE YOU GUYS GO! A good ol' Katniss and Thorin scene that I really just wanted to get out of the way; not much to really say here. The songs that I referenced are:<strong>

"**Carry the Blessed Home" by Blind Guardian**

"**Straight Through the Mirror" by Blind Guardian**

"**Wheel of Time" by Blind Guardian**

**Anyway, the next chapter is going to probably contain the Gamemaker sessions, interviews, and possibly even the very start of the Games; maybe not the Bloodbath, but right when they're being raised to the platforms.**

**As always, thank you for reading, and be sure to drop a follow/favourite/review if you enjoyed! Hope you have a wonderful time until I see you all again!**

**~Jordan**


	8. VIII: Stick to Your Truths

**Disclaimer: Me still own nothing.**

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><p><strong>Chapter VIII: Stick to Your Truths<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

"_Show them your stuff, kid. Wow them."_

"_Show them you mean business."_

"_Give them hell, Thorin."_

The wise advice of Haymitch, Cinna and Arwen rings loudly in my head as I sit alone in the austere waiting room. Earlier today concluded our final bouts of training; now it is the final sessions in front of the board of Gamemakers to decide our final scores, which will be factored into the betting pools and cause people to more than likely come to blows over who they think will be the winner.

As my brother Alexander would say, "God bless the Capitol."

Anyway, I'm all alone now. The tributes went in District-by-District, female to male, so of course it would be myself who was last. Katniss, Thresh, Rue and I talked during the waiting period, with Holden occasionally chiming in. Eventually however, they all went into the Gamemakers' room and proceeded to do whatever it was that they presented…

And now all I await is for the door to slide open… ah! Speak of the devil! Standing up and stretching my legs, I walk out of the dimly lit hallway lined with metal, into the very spacious, equipment-filled room. Moving confidently to the very centre of the room and looking up to the little spectators' box where the Gamemakers sit with their overly extravagant dinners, I see that for the most part quite a few of them are fixated on the wall behind them, where an apple is pinned to it by an arrow.

Realisation dawns on me that this could have been the fault of nobody but Katniss, the laugh tears itself from my throat before I can stop it. I double over and fall to my knees, shaking with laughter, eyes filling with tears. They must've really pissed her off.

After a moment of this I realise that they are all staring at me, some of them glaring; regaining my composure, I stand up and clear my throat. "S-sorry about that," I say, trying to keep my eyes away from the arrow. "My name is Hadrian Marlowe. District 12." I offer them a curt bow, before turning and walking toward a station with several racks of spears and targets and many different distances. Whilst spears may not be my strongest point, they are a decent enough jumping-off point, as you may.

Pulling two spears from the shelves, I balance them both in my palms, getting a bit of a feel for them. Choosing the first one, which felt the lightest and most like the ones from home, I cock back my arm and chuck it with a fair amount of strength behind it, and it soars directly into the centre of a target several metres away. Grabbing another from the same rack, I throw it as well, though it does not go as far. I repeat this about three more times before ditching the spears and moving over to the hand to hand combat station; there is a Peacekeeper waiting there for this one, though unfortunately it is not Alexander. Nevertheless I best him with relative ease and throw him not once, not twice, but three times.

Without any warning, leaving the Peacekeeper on the ground I walk over to the sword station and look over my choices. There's a broadsword that appears to be made more of jewels than steel and is near as tall as myself; there's also a long, thin blade that is curved—according to my brothers who have travelled to faraway places, this is called a katana; and finally there is a sword that bears only a single edge, with a curved pommel and a polished oak hilt, adorned with no jewels, simply metal coverings. I survey the blades once more, finally settling on the latter; picking up the sword and swinging it a few times to get a feel for it.

Moving to a place where they have several battered-looking training dummies set up, I grip the sword in both hands and take a few steps to steady myself. Raising the sword to where I am looking directly down the tip, I lunge toward the nearest target and slice it in half; another swing beheads another dummy; I cut directly through the chest of one, and slash the arm off another. Barreling into a freestanding dummy, I kneel on top of it and stab it repeatedly, tearing stuffing out of it.

After almost a full minute of that I stand back up and move over to the rack, placing the sword back upon it gingerly, almost as a mother would lay her child down.

I turn my gaze upon the Gamemakers who I believe may be stunned by my sudden violence, but I offer them a low bow. "Hadrian Marlowe, District 12. At your service. May I leave now?"

* * *

><p>When I return to the floor belonging to District 12, Katniss and Arwen greet me at the door. "Welcome back, Thorin," says Arwen.<p>

"How did you do?" asks Katniss.

I give her a grin and respond, "Well, I didn't throw a spear or a sword at them, so that' s an improvement."

Her face turns red; "You mean they didn't remove it?"

Shaking my head, I tell her, "They did not; in fact I fell to my knees laughing when I first saw it." I say happily. She punches me in the arm. "But all in all, I think I did well enough. Nothing special."

"Well all you really missed was Effie chewing me out for shooting an arrow at them," Katniss says.

"AND ME LAUGHING!" comes Haymitch's voice from the other room.

"Hurry everyone! Come in here!" Cinna yells, "They're on District 9!"

Katniss, Arwen and I come into the living room and take seats, Katniss on my left and Arwen on my right, just in time to see the score of 8 for the District 9 male flashing past. Next we see the District 10 female, who received a 5; then Holden, who managed to scrape up a 9.

"Rue's next!" Katniss whispers excitedly; I can't help but grin when a 7 flashes across the screen for our tiny little friend.

"She had to be clever," I commend, grinning broadly.

"She's so tiny though," Arwen says curiously.

"Though she be little, she be fierce… maybe," I respond. Thresh's face appears on the television next, and soon a 10 appears next to his name. My smile widens as I let out a low whistle.

"Damn, that's quite impressive," Cinna says.

"He's very powerful," I interject. "Though I have only seen the very basics of what he can do."

"Shh! Shh! Here's Katniss!" Effie hushes as a portrait of Katniss appears on the screen. From the fact that she shot at the Gamemakers, I can infer that she will either get a very good score, or get a terribly low score, maybe even a 0.

Katniss tenses up next to me, and I squeeze her hand to reassure her. "Relax," I whisper to her.

I look to the corner of the screen and see the telltale flash that announces the number, and…

"Holy shit," says Haymitch.

"My word!" breathes Effie.

"Incredible!" Cinna says happily.

"Mother of the Mountains!" I cry, hugging her.

Katniss has done what no other tribute has, at least in our lifetime.

She has scored an 11.

To a certain degree, she actually looks speechless… and then a bright grin stretches across her face. "Holy shit… Thorin, do you think Prim's watching?"

"I'm sure she is," I say with a smile. "Gale too, they're all probably over with my family. Just like for your birthday. I bet your mom's there too." I add, remembering Katniss's, ah… _issues_ with her mother.

Katniss frowns a little, then looks back at the screen; "You're up next," she says softly.

…I guess I hit a bit of a soft spot. But she is right; a few moments after hers disappears, mine shows up. And next to mine is a… 9; that's a little bit surprising. I showed them no survival skills, merely my ability to fight. Perhaps they were impressed with my sheer strength?

"Not bad, Thorin," Arwen says with a smile, patting my back.

"Eh, could be better. But you did alright, kid." Haymitch says.

"I think I won," Katniss says softly, though with a small smile on her face.

* * *

><p>"She's my little sister Prim, and I love her more than anything in the world," Katniss says, "and I won't let you down."<p>

"I'm sure you won't."

And thus concludes Katniss's interview. I'm just offstage watching her as she curtsies and Caesar bows as he kisses her hand and she walks off. Her dress twirls around her, flickering like firelight.

She passes by me and offers a reassuring smile, as well as a tiny hug; I'm not very good at social situations—at least, not when I know I'm being televised in front of millions of people. I steel my nerves and put on a calm face with just the tiniest smile and walk out onto the stage. Arwen dressed me up in attire that is very similar to what I would wear back home, if only more formal.

I wear a tan leather vest that is covered with fur (not the kind worn back home, but close enough) and underneath a black suit jacket, accented with flames. My pants are long and black and also accented with flames; however, Arwen changed something up from the original design. Whereas Katniss was a woman of fire, Arwen has attempted to capture the very starlight in my outfit. There have been small bits of gems embedded into my jacket and pants, occasionally arranged into little constellations.

As I step out onto the stage, the spotlights glint off of my gems and many people go silent—not as many as when Katniss walked on looking incredibly beautiful, but still a satisfying amount. I walk over to Caesar Flickman, the announcer for the Games. He's an older man who is quite obviously from the Capitol, for he dyes his hair a different colour every year and applies different coloured makeup; this year his colour is blue, and he wears a suit of that shade to match it.

"Ah, Hadrian! I almost thought you weren't coming!" he jokes, standing up. He is smiling and as I reach the middle of the stage he shakes my hand and bids me to take a seat. I do so, sitting down gently in the comfortable chair. He laughs happily and says, "Welcome, Hadrian."

"Thank you sir," I say respectfully, maintaining my generally stoic mask, though allowing the tiniest instance of a smile to appear. "It is… nice… to be here. Or it would be if it weren't for the circumstances."

"Yes, yes, it is a shame… what do you think is the worst part about it?"

"Well, I'm going to have to find twenty-three new people to come to my birthday party," I joke, though the fact that I maintain a serious face the entire time makes the crowd laugh. Turning my head to them, I add, "Please do not do that," and they laugh even more. "It is not funny… although I suppose I could throw a couple stones here and find twenty-three people to invite who do not want to kill me."

Caesar laughs along with the crowd and says, "Well, it is hard when you can't get enough people to your birthday party, certainly ruins the day, right? Well, I do hope I'll get an invitation," he winks.

"Certainly." I respond, smiling a little more. "You'll be first on the list."

"Oh good! Might I RSVP now?"

"Well, it would be rude to say yes, because the others are still alive. I don't want them to think I'm replacing them yet," I respond in a stage whisper. The audience laughs loudly at this, and I frown; "It is not funny, do you know how awkward it is when someone catches you planning to replace them after you kill them?"

"I'm afraid not, but it does sound… unsavoury," Caesar laughs. "But let me ask you one thing, because unfortunately we have to wrap this up… is there a special girl back home?"

I sigh and chuckle grimly; "Back home? No."

"Oh? A guy like you? Why, if I looked like you, I'd be swimming in women!"

"Oh... OH! You sick little monkey! …Oh, wait, I am sorry. I had a bit of a misunderstanding; I had assumed you were literally going to slay women and then swim in their entrails." I say, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. A bit of a shock factor, yes, but it nonetheless works, at least somewhat.

"Well Hadrian, just think, if you win, you're going to be able to have any woman you want!"

"…I'm afraid winning won't help in my case." I sigh.

"And why's that?"

"Well… it's funny, you see, she kind of, ah…"

"Yes…?"

"Came here with me…"

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

"She kind of, ah… came here with me…"

I freeze. Thorin, my best friend in the world, has just revealed to Caesar—no, the whole country of Panem—something that not even I had known.

He has feelings for me. Not just friendly feelings, but… romantic feelings. My throat is dry; I can't say anything.

I simply cannot believe it. The person I have seen for years as one of the few constants in my life, as my best friend, is in love with me.

And to be perfectly honest, I think I might feel something for him too.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there you have it! I wrote this in kind of a hurry, because I really just wanted to get this one out of the way, because next chapter is… you got it, the GAMES! With a little foreword, that is. But, ah, we got the revelation from Thorin that shocked the world! To be perfectly honest, I had planned that from the very beginning, having this confession; and for Katniss's perspective, you can see how so many years of friendship may have both helped her possibly like him and also possibly not. <strong>

**But yeah, I really just wanted to get this chapter out of the way so that I can get to everyone's favourite part, and the part which I'm probably going to ****specialise**** in because of all the action. Anyway, I'll just be heading out now, because let me put it this way: I allowed my sick housemate to cook dinner, and I got some watery-ass mac n cheese so I'm gonna make myself a Hot Pocket or something. **

**As always I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you for reading; if you enjoyed, feel free to drop a favourite/follow/review. Hope you have a wonderful time until I see you again! **

**~Jordan**


	9. IX: Into the Frying-pan

**Disclaimer: Hey, I own nothing. Boom.**

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><p><strong>Chapter IX: Into the Frying-pan<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

"You are ready, yes?" asks Arwen calmly, sitting beside me in a chair as we await the tube that will bring me up into the Games.

"Aye, as ready as I will ever be," is my half-hearted response. As much as I am trying to get "into the game" as they say, I cannot stop myself from thinking back to the night prior, when I confessed my feelings for Katniss over live TV. She hasn't spoken to me since then, not a single word.

The attire which Arwen has dressed me in, as required by the Games, is, in a word… uncomfortable. The pants are black and a bit too tight, the shirt is of a similar colour and is also tight against my broad chest; however, the jacket, made to insulate heat, is of perfect size, if not a little big. My silver flute, given to me by my mother, is tucked safely in my pocket.

"Please be calm, Thorin. You will do fine," Arwen says, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. "A nine is nothing to scoff at, especially when so few tributes scored more than six."

I frown a little bit; "It is not that I am worried about," I say grimly, "it is Katniss. She has not spoken to me since last night, and I fear that I have offended her in some way."

"It will all be fine in the end, Thorin; you must remember that she too is likely to be taken by strange feelings;" Arwen says softly, "she too is facing a situation of life and death, and she is likely a target for her high score."

"Which means more risk on my part," I say. "Whilst I still draw breath, I shall defend her with body and shield."

Arwen smiles a bit; "You truly are a son of Arnthorr," she says, drawing me into a hug, "truly a son of my brother."

"Daughter of Thjalfi," I respond with a smile, "sister to my father Josurr. He had mentioned you several times near the end; he suffered the same curse as I now bear."

Arwen's smile softened, becoming quite sad in nature; "I am sorry that I was not able to see him once more before his death, for out of all my brothers he and I were closest," she says. "However, in his stead, I give you my faith and will watch over you in your endeavour."

Just as the roof opens up and a glass tube begins to descend, she presses her lips to my forehead and smiles. "Farewell, my nephew. May the mountain-blood that runs through you protect you."

"And you, aunt; do keep an eye on Katniss for me, yes?" I ask, stepping into the tube.

As the glass starts to close behind me, I hear her say, "Of course," and the plate begins to rise. I do what I can to remain calm, though on the inside I am shaking. I am afraid, there is no doubting.

I am afraid.

And one thing is on my mind: '_I must… no, I _will _protect Katniss!_'

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

I wish that I can say I was perfectly calm in the tube, but truth be told, I was yelling and beating on the glass. Cinna's parting words to me had been, "If I could bet, all of my money would be on you."

As the metal plate raises me upward, the blinding light of the artificial sun assaults my eyes. A few seconds pass before I can survey my surroundings properly: in the west and north there are several mountains; dense forests are on all sides, except for one end that is a wheat field that goes most likely up to my shoulders; the ground around us is hard-packed dirt and overall very rough-looking with very little visible vegetation, and a small lake to the eastern side.

And the Cornucopia is its ever-bountiful self, a reminder of the Capitol's power and wealth. The golden horn gleams brightly in the sun, spilling forth with all sorts of weapons and supplies; from what I can gather, the better items are closer to the Cornucopia—closer to the fighting, obviously—and the lesser items are farther spread out. But what is right near the middle? None other than a set of silver bow and arrows, no doubt meant for me; there is, from what I can see, no such other weapon.

Looking over as a cold robotic voice drones over the plain, "Ten, nine…" I see Thorin's imposing figure standing about six plates away, crouched to run for the Cornucopia. He does not look at me at all.

"Three. Two…" my stomach is in knots as I ready to dash; I am very good in this dead-sprint situation, at least from my performance in school. "One."

And off in a mad dash, the others and I take off in a frenzied run. I grab a small orange backpack whilst trying to reach the bow, but when I see how many tributes have made it to the Cornucopia itself I do not risk it, instead preferring to turn and run.

As I flee for the forest, something knocks my feet out from under me, and I stumble. Pushing myself over to look up I see the male tribute from District 9 sprinting at me with an axe held in hand, and a pack slung over his shoulder.

Closing my eyes tightly, I await death, the cold steal of the axe slicing into me.

Yet it never comes; instead I hear a gruff voice say, "Ah, ah, ah!" and immediately I recognize Thorin. But this is not the playful tone he so often uses.

It is full of ferocity and sounds overall sadistic.

As he stands over the male from 9, he turns his head to me and barks out one command, "Go!" and without hesitation I comply, standing and fleeing for the trees once more.

It is just now that I realise something.

Thorin held a sword.

The very tone in his voice, his burning eyes; as much as I try to ignore the fact, there is no doubt in my mind that…

…Thorin has killed the boy.

* * *

><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage is all that I felt when the boy charged Katniss.

This burning rage, fueled by my oath to defend Katniss, only subsided once my sword sliced through his neck, severing his head cleanly from his body.

Watching Katniss's form disappearing for the trees, I barely notice the knife as it flies past my shoulder—stabbing into Katniss's backpack, just inches beneath her neck. Turning my head quickly, I see the small female from District 2, not as small as Rue mind you, but around the same height, running toward me with a wicked-looking throwing knife in her hand. Arcing her arm back to throw, I instinctually swing my blade to block with the flat-edge.

I can see the anger in her eyes as the knife flies from her hand, but instead of staying to combat her I strike her right in the face and make back for the Cornucopia, where Holden is squaring off with the boy from 4. Though I am not in any alliance with him, Holden has befriended me and I will defend him.

Barely holding his own with a spear against the red-haired Career's repeated strikes with a trident, Holden sees me coming. I smirk at him and grab the Career by the back of the neck, throwing him to the ground, which is easier than I expected, as for someone from a Career District he is surprisingly light. I step on the boy's arm and stab directly into his heart. When I look back up, Holden is gone.

Bodies already litter the ground; a few metres away most of the Careers are still fighting, trying to pick off some of the weaker tributes. I see the girl from 7 go down, her throat being hacked repeatedly by the boy from 1.

There is but one other tribute besides myself at the Cornucopia that is not a Career, and that tribute would be Thresh, who is running for the wheat field. I snag two backpacks from the Cornucopia and a knife before fleeing for the woods.

* * *

><p>It is nearing the final hours of the afternoon when the death-cannons begin to fire. I suppose that either a majority—or all—of the fighting has ceased at the Cornucopia, else it would be too hard to keep track of the fatalities. There are two—three, unless the female from 7 managed to survive—deaths that I know for sure, both caused by myself.<p>

One, two, three, four… overall there have been eleven to pass, thirteen left alive. When the count ends, the sun is beginning to wane. Despite the overall appeal to the idea, I know that should I start a fire to lure in the Careers I would not be able to take on them all at once.

For now, however, my first priorities are shelter and water. I suppose that if I could find a tree that I could climb I could use that for shelter, though I do not trust my chances with that; the same for my water, there may be some in the packs I took, but I would rather not take the risk. Instead I keep moving through the forest.

Trees sprout up all around me, reaching like great pillars supporting the green roof of some wondrous twilight hall.

Some wondrous twilight hall… that reeks of blood and resounds with cries of anguish.

By the time the dark finally arrives I have found a small cave that is warm enough and large enough to hold me. Nestling in, I open up my packs. In the first, there is a knife, some dried fruit and a flashlight, oh, and a little bit of rope. The second contains a blanket and a very, very small water bottle. There is very little to it, height-wise it is perhaps the size of a dagger's hilt, no thicker than my fist. Not a particularly great find, though at least I am not completely dry. If I can remember the very basic snares Gale once taught me, I can find food; though I cannot catch water.

Frowning at the gentle rumbling of my stomach, I begin to weigh my options—either I can open a package of fruit and eat it all at once, or I can wait until I am truly hungry to break into these meagre provisions. Obviously I choose the latter.

This does, however, bring to my attention the plight at hand: Katniss. Where she has gone, I know not; though I am sure she has survived, she is not foolish.

But I have made an oath, and there is nothing on this earth that will stop me from seeing it through. I _will_ find her.

As I huddle in my cave, wrapping myself in my blanket, I hear the telltale string instruments of the Capitol's anthem, joined in by many brass instruments like trumpets and trombones. Looking up through the dense canopy of leaves I can see the seal of the Capitol projected clearly into the sky. Moments later is when the first face appears, the first fatality in order of District.

The first to appear is the female from District 3, whom had been slain by the male from District 5, just as I had been fleeing. Next, the male from 4 appears, followed by the male from 5; the pairs from 6, 7, 8 and 9 have all been killed, and the female from 10. That means that Holden has survived. I only remember eleven cannons, though I suppose that one more must have fired during my flight into the forest. The Capitol's seal appears and the anthem plays once more and the sky goes dark again, dimly lit by artificial stars.

I realize that I cannot stay awake all night, and my eyes begin to droop. I elicit a tiny yawn, and slowly I close my eyes and allow sleep to overtake me, mentally forbidding myself from more than six hours.

* * *

><p><strong>And there you have it, the very first chapter of the actual Games! I wrote this chapter all in one sitting because I was all in all very psyched for this. My favourite movie was on earlier, and my mac n cheese wasn't watery so I was pretty happy. Also, I realize that last chapter was not very good; as much as I hate dissing my own works, I just could not get myself into that chapter. I could barely motivate myself to read through that chapter, and likewise I could barely motivate myself to write through that chapter. <strong>

**But all in all I do hope you enjoyed this one! We got a revelation from Arwen that to be perfectly honest, I would not be surprised if any of you saw it coming, simply from their similarities. We got through the Bloodbath and saw the very basics of Thorin's strength in action, as well as his fierce adherence to his oath. **

**As always I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did feel free to leave a follow/review/favourite. Hope you all have a wonderful time until we meet again, friends!**

**~Jordan**


	10. X: Incursion

**Disclaimer: I owneth nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter X: Incursion<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

"_Lord of all Noldor, a star in the night_

_And a bearer of hope,_

_He rides into his glorious battle alone,_

_Farewell to the valiant warlord,_"

Silently I move through the forest, sword belted to my waist with the rope that I found in one of my packs, which are both slung over my shoulders. My knife rests also bound to my waist, though it is nearer to the knot of my makeshift belt for general purposes, as it is easier for me to access in that area. I allow my songs to echo softly as I move deliberately over rocks, logs and leaves, narrowed grey eyes scanning my surroundings.

"_The fate of us all lies deep in the dark,_

_When time stands still at the Iron Hill,_

_The fate of us all lies deep in the dark,_

_When time stands still at the Iron Hill._"

Taking a moment to stop and listen, I hear a faint crackling of leaves behind me; it is not a large crackle, so that rules out many of the Careers, or even Holden or Thresh, for not even they can hide their massive size from sound. Turning my head slightly, I see a small, dark-haired form fleeing behind a tree. A small smile crosses my lips as I say, "Rue, the sons of Arnthorr are not as oblivious as you may believe."

Stepping from her cover, she smiles sheepishly at me. "I didn't think you would be able to hear me," she says, "but you're not exactly like most people."

My lips curl upward as I respond, "No, I'm not; near anyone else would have rushed you by now for coming out in the open as you did. I must advise you not to do so without proper caution." I tilt my head. "I would hate to see you die so tragically."

"Well to be honest I didn't think you would kill me. Not after you killed the boy from 4 to save the one from 10," she replies.

"I befriended you, just as I befriended Holden; I would kill to protect you as well, should you be in trouble."

"Just a question," she says, "what exactly are you doing all the way out here? I don't think that there would be many tributes out this way."

Frowning a little as I consider my response, finally I say, "I am looking for Katniss; then I will turn my eyes toward the mountain." I turn my back to her. "You have not seen Katniss, have you?"

"I saw her on the first day, and I think I might have seen her heading north yesterday," she says softly; "but I haven't seen her since."

"North, towards the mountains," I repeat with a small smile. "I suppose she expected I would head there as well." This little bit of speaking was directed more toward myself. I turn back to her and say, "Then I too will head north. Perhaps you would like to accompany me?"

"How do you know I won't kill you in the middle of the night?"

Chuckling, I reply, "Because I trust you not to."

Northwards Rue and I travel, moving silently with myself slightly in front of her, should anyone charge at us I can easily step in front of her to protect her. We do what we can to avoid doing anything that can make noise, and only whisper when we speak.

"Thorin, is Katniss your girlfriend?" she asks softly.

"No."

"Do you like her?"

"You are twelve, yes?" I respond quickly, changing the subject.

I can hear the satisfaction in her whisper, "I'll take that as a yes."

My cheeks redden slightly, though she cannot see it. I cannot deny the truthfulness in her assumption for it is true. "How far do you think Katniss could have gotten? And you are sure she is travelling north, yes?"

"I doubt she could have gone very far," Rue says, "and yes. Definitely north."

And thus we keep travelling north.

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

The fourth day of the Hunger Games—how can I best explain it? Ah yes, fiery.

I woke up beside the pond that I've been camped out next to as a fireball screams toward me from the west. With just barely enough time I roll out of the way, the flames flying over me. Swearing I push myself up and grab my pack, running eastward, hoping I can get away from the fireballs.

More and more fly towards me, burning red hot as they're flung like rocks from invisible slingshots. I duck and jump and strafe trying to avoid them, running as quickly as I can. I'll have to delay my journey to the mountain if I wish to survive long enough—though perhaps the further north I would go, there would be less of these fiery missiles.

But I cannot afford to take that precaution yet, I must keep moving. Cannot stop. _Must. Not. Stop._

Hurtling over a log, I cry out in pain as a fireball grazes my calf, causing a searing pain in my flesh. I hunker down behind the fallen tree, keeping my head low; I cannot quite move yet, too much pain. Wincing slightly, I pull my canteen from my pack and drip a little water over the burn, gingerly pulling my pant leg up over the wound. I bite my lip to keep from screaming as my wound flares up a bit, but I sigh in relief when as the water flows over my burnt leg.

I hear the whistling of a fireball but I do not know where it is coming from, and I'm thrown forward as the log explodes into flaming splinters, the wind knocked out of me when I impact against the hardened ground. A few of the little wooden needles dig into my arm like daggers, setting my skin on fire with agony. Tears drip down my face as I try to keep from screaming; more fireballs fly toward me.

But I cannot afford to stop moving.

* * *

><p>Finally I managed to escape from the fireballs, the deadly projectiles no longer following me as I went further east. I had to move with a limp for quite some time, before I finally found a pond surrounded by trees which I can rest by.<p>

So now here I sit, waist-deep in the pond allowing my burnt calf to cool. A sigh escapes my lips as I submerge my foot deeper into the pond, relieved.

Then I hear voices, and my heart leaps into my throat. There are not just one, nor two voices—there are several, and that can only mean one thing: the Careers. Keeping as silent as I can, I make for a tree with a low branch that I can pull myself up with. Wrapping my legs around the tree, I grasp onto the branch and pull myself up, my wounded calf scraping the rough bark of the tree and I gasp slightly, almost losing my grip, but I manage to hoist myself up onto a higher branch.

A few moments later the Career pack tramps through the place where I just was, a few of them wading through the pond, two going around. All of them are looking around.

Finally one of them, the blonde girl from 1 who had attempted to flirt with Thorin during the training sessions, looks up and spots me in the trees, then points and says gleefully, "There she is! It's Everdeen!" The others gather around quickly and are grinning like hounds at a feast; I sneer at them and notice one thing: the girl from 1 has the bow and arrows.

If she can shoot me, then I am dead; but if she cannot, I am still surrounded. Either way, it's a bad situation. There is nothing I can do—I must wait until they move on.

At one point the boy from 2 attempts to climb the tree with his sword in his mouth as a buccaneer would, but I kick at him and he falls backward, swearing loudly. "How about you try throwing the sword?" I taunt.

* * *

><p>Dusk falls quite quickly, with no deaths that day. The Careers have made a camp beneath me, with a fire pit prepared and a small fire already blazing. So as not to fall victim to them in my sleep, I have belted myself into the tree with some rope I found in my pack. I remove the knife the girl from 2 threw at me on the first day and examine it—the serrated edges, good for cutting, but also straight and wicked sharp and good for cutting.<p>

If I were able to get down to the ground whilst they slept, I could probably kill them all—or at least a few. But sadly that is not possible without a great deal of risk.

When the night finally falls and the Careers are beginning to drift off to sleep, with just the girl from 1 on guard, I do what I can to keep awake. I hear the snapping of branches on a tree directly across from me, and as my eyes begin to focus to the darkness, I see a small form: "…Rue?" I call out quietly.

Her small lithe form is quite apparent against the false starlight, and I can see a tiny smile on her face as she clings to the top of her tree. She points at a spot above my head, and looking up I can see something grey and pod-shaped… a nest. Small insects buzz about it, flicking in and out; I stifle a gasp: Tracker Jackers. A biological abomination made from a mix of a bee and an unknowable number of other horrors that cause hallucinations upon stinging. Looking back to Rue she pantomimes a cutting motion, and I understand what she means; then she points to below, and I hear the cracking of some twigs and makes the motion of a sword swinging.

"Thorin?" I mouth to her; she smiles in response.

Doing as she had suggested, I grab onto branches and clamber up to the spot where the nest hangs. The girl from 1, who is getting drowsy, has undoubtedly noticed my movements, but is unable to register it.

Suddenly the fire goes out in a shower of sparks, as if someone kicked it out in a rush, and a cannon is heard. "What the hell?!" yells the male from District 2; there's a sound of a scuffle, and I use this little bit of a distraction to saw at the nest, getting stung once by a Jacker, but finally I manage to throw it down and it cracks open on the ground like a jar, the insects flying everywhere judging by the low buzzing and humming noise they make. The Careers scream and flee somewhere that I cannot quite see, but I know they are gone.

When I can no longer hear the buzz of the Tracker Jackers, I clamber down the tree like a squirrel, albeit a clumsy one, and a small fire is struck back up. I can see the dark, imposing figure that is my best friend off to the side in the pond, leg outstretched. "Thorin?" I say softly.

"Go," is his gruff reply. "Far away. Go."

He does not look at me.

"Hurry; I fear they will be back soon." He rubs his leg with a few leaves, sighing audibly in relief. He pushes himself up to a standing position, turning to me. I can see fire in his grey eyes, and it is not the dim torchlight that provides illumination for our surroundings. "Katniss. Take what is on Glimmer and flee. Head north; if you find Rue, and I am not with her, continue to head north."

"Are you and Rue allied?"

"Well I am not going to kill her if that is what you believe," he responds curtly. He points over to a tree where the body of the girl from 1 lies impaled by a small sword, not like the one I saw him wielding on the first day; it is much shorter and not as well adorned as the first. At her side the bow and quiver rests, along with a small pack. "Take the supplies and go north. I will not repeat it."

"And just where are you going?" I demand harshly, staring him in the eyes.

The greyness of his eyes turns cold. "Hunting."

* * *

><p><strong>Well everybody, I think that might be enough for today; I decided that instead of a single 5000+ word chapter, I would divide this one into two different chapters because the one following this is, in essence, almost entirely different from the book. You may notice that Glimmer was the only one to die, instead of her and the girl from District 4. The simple fact of the matter is that it is not quite time for her to die yet. <strong>

**Anyway I do hope that this was long enough for now, I hope to have the next one up within a few days. The reason for no update last week, well my friends and I were starring in our university's production of **_**Anything Goes**_**. Or at least my friends were starring, I was part of the tech crew. Point is last week was the tech week so we were ironing everything out, making it smooth and all, and then Thursday, Friday and Saturday were the actual production nights. **

**But we got to see a bit more into Thorin's protectiveness of Katniss, and the basics of how much he cares for Rue. **

**The song used at the beginning of the chapter is "Time Stands Still (At the Iron Hill)" by Blind Guardian; you will find that quite a bit of the songs that I will use in this story are by Blind Guardian, as I see them as good for folk-songs and the like that would be sung by mountainfolk like Thorin's people. **

**As always I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did feel free to leave a follow/review/favourite. Hope you all have a wonderful time until we meet again, friends!**

**~Jordan**


	11. XI: Time Stands Still

Disclaimer: Me no own nothing

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><p><strong>Chapter XI: Time Stands Still<strong>

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><p>"I <strong>DARE<strong> YOU!"

Thorin's voice rang out loud and deep through the trees, full of rage and grimness. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, gripping it tightly to the point where he is almost white-knuckled. He moves quickly through the trees, chasing after any sound that seems to be large enough to be made by a human. His plan had not worked as he had wanted—he had hoped to have been able to slay most if not all of the Careers when he kicked out the fire, but the girl had screamed and alerted the others; he thinks he had gotten off a decent slash on the tall one, Marvel.

"COME OUT, YOU **COWARDS!**"

Stalking through the dim forest as the artificial sun slowly begins to rise above him, Thorin closes his eyes for a moment, and just… listens. The shadows of the night slowly begin to melt away as grey light bathes over the trees and grass, a soft wind rustling the leaves just barely, and then… _SNAP!_

His eyes pop open and a cruel smile crosses his face. "State your name and business," he says to no one in particular, not expecting a response, "and let's see what you've got… which is another body for my count!" A few more tree branches snap and Thorin turns his head, and what does he find skulking around the bushes but the boy from District 3 with a spear. He wears a tan jacket with a light green shirt and black pants, and his brown hair is matted with mud and his face is riddled with stings.

The boy tries to run, but Thorin leaps at him and tackles him to the ground, knocking the spear out of the boy's hands as the pair roll down a slight incline before coming to a rest against a small bush, twigs poking into Thorin's back. The boy attempts to gain leverage and get atop Thorin, but the boy from 12 is much larger and is able to overpower him, placing a knee on his chest to prevent him from moving too much. "I will tell you once more," says Thorin, "state your name. I wish to know your name before you are slain."

At first he says nothing, but Thorin puts more pressure on the boy with his knee until he finally splutters out, "G-Gerry! My name is Gerry!" Thorin smiles a little, not quite as cruel this time, and eases the pressure. "Why do you want to know so badly?"

"My family has long believed that if one dies without being identified by name to his killer, he will not be able to enter the Hall of the Slain," Thorin says softly, his hand clasping around the hilt of his sword and sliding it from its rest between his belt and waist. The blade gleams lightly in the light of dawn. "Gerry; tell me something about the Careers. You were with them, not simply following them, yes?" the boy nods and Thorin continues, "Now. Has there been anything done to protect their food? Is anyone guarding it?"

"T-the landmines," says Gerry, "that were around the plates at the start. We—Marvel and I—dug them up and buried them around the stores; I reactivated them…"

Thorin's smile widens a little, before asking, "If something triggers them, will they set off a chain reaction?"

Gerry's brow furrows in thought for a moment; "I'm not sure, maybe. I didn't measure the distance between, Cato was breathing down my neck the entire time."

"Thank you Gerry. This knowledge will serve most excellently," says Thorin, removing his knee from the boy's chest. Standing up and pulling the boy to a kneeling position, he bows his head before resting the hilt of his sword in both hands. "May your journey take you past the Hall of the Slain to the Isle of the Blest."

Seconds later, Gerry's severed head could be found resting in the same bush they fell into, blood staining the leaves, whilst Thorin's footsteps could be heard heading north.

He had not intended to stop his hunt so shortly, but with information such as this… he could not help himself.

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

_BOOM!_ A cannon sounds loudly, jolting Rue from her sleep. Since my brief meeting with Thorin, she and I have been heading north like he said to. When I did find Rue, he had not been with her, though I suppose I should not have expected him to be, not before at least one cannon sounded.

Rue and I have camped out in a small copse of trees on a ridge just above a cave; we would have taken the cave, though it is deep and dark and when I inspected it I smelled something rotting and heard a low growl. It may not have been a smart move to camp directly above it, yet this seemed the best alternative. A few tree trunks, for the most part, block us from view, the only way to see us being if you look very carefully, you may spot the hood of my jacket. The sleeping bag rests just a little ways beneath a ledge, not far enough so that one would hit their head on the ledge (well perhaps Thorin or Gale, but I am counting people who are here at the moment) but close enough that the sun will not get in your eyes.

"What was that?" Rue asks after a moment, turning her head to me, "Who do you think it was?"

Shrugging, I respond with a simple, "Not Thorin," and kneel over a small campfire that I had built a few hours prior, using a stick to prod around and rekindle a bit. A small rabbit roasts on a makeshift spit and occasionally I turn it to make sure it cooks evenly. To the side of the fire pit I have rested my bow and quiver, as well as the shortsword which I received from Thorin.

"So, I have a question," says Rue, kneeling across from me by the fire pit. "What exactly are you and Thorin?"

Tilting my head, I ask her, "What do you mean?"

"Like… are you just friends? Are you, you know… together? Something like that?"

"Just friends," I say quickly, a small blush—barely noticeable—crosses my face as I look at the fire.

Rue gives me a small smirk and says nothing; about an hour passes and we hear some rustling near us, around the area of the cave below us. Unsure of what it could be, before it can get any further, I pick up my bow and nock an arrow, creeping behind the trunk of a tree, swinging my bow around slowly, looking down the point as I focus for a target.

"…Boo," says a gruff voice, and I squeak ever-so-slightly when I turn and see Thorin's face mere inches from mine, grinning slightly. "Surprised to see me?"

Rue giggles behind me as I hear her respond, "I think _she_ certainly was! I knew you'd come along soon enough," she uses a knife to cut a length of rope that bound the rabbit I had been cooking and plucked the now nicely-cooked bunny from the spit.

Thorin walks over to sit beside Rue and glances over at me with a hurt expression on his faith. "O ye of little faith!" he says grimly, before smiling once more. "But good morning! How aaaare we all?" he asks, drawing out the "are" as if drawling. "I'm in a wee bit of an awkward situation here… you see, I've found myself a bit of a… larder, if you will…"

"What's a larder?" Rue chimes in. Thorin pats her on the head gently.

"Excess stores. Like a food supply," he responds with a gentle smile. "The Careers' larder, to be specific. Or, if I need to get into details… a way to _destroy_ their larder." His smile quickly hardens to be cold as ice, his grey eyes shining like the steel of a blade.

"What do you mean, Thorin?" I ask, my interest suddenly piqued.

He grins wolfishly at me as he responds, "The landmines. The ones around the pads at the start of the Games," he says, though saying nothing else as if it should be obvious.

"…Yes? What about them?"

"Gerry—the boy from 3—dug them up and buried them around the Career's stockpile. If something were to trigger them… he said it could possibly cause a chain reaction."

"Just how did you find this out?"

Thorin's grin disappears quickly. "Don't worry about it. It's not important how I got the info, just trust me."

Concealing a frown I say, "Alright. What do we do?"

* * *

><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

We rested in the little grove that night, Rue and Katniss having supped on the rabbit and myself on a bit of dried fruit that I have been conserving. Upon the very sunrise I roused the two of them, the former having grumbled a little at being woken up so early, and the latter appearing quite dishevelled and looking at me with a light blush. They ate the last bit of the rabbit and I kicked out the fire, and then we set off toward the centre, which is toward the south of us.

Now our merry trio has split up into our own solo runs. Myself, my objective is to circle the area around the Careers' camp, to keep an eye on them and ensure they do not get too close to Katniss or Rue. The job which Katniss finds herself with is to search for a hidden place from which she can observe the Careers and see if there is anything that can be done immediately or if more planning is required. Rue… her job, I find, has me the most uneasy; she is quite quick, certainly, but she is to set campfires that will set the Careers on a hunt… though it will also certainly draw the attention of any other tribute, yet if my count is correct then the only ones left who pose a major threat would be Holden and Thresh, as well as the red-haired girl from District 5.

But there is still something that has me ill at ease; I was staunchly outspoken when Rue volunteered to do that alone, but she soothed me into it.

And here I find myself, roughly fifty metres from the Career camp, moving slowly and circuitously around the Cornucopia plain, with shadows now being cast onto me from the leaves. As silently as I can I crouch down and peer through the branches of a low tree.

Cato and his partner, the one with whom I brawled on the very first day, sit to one side by a campfire, with a few tents behind them. About ten or so metres away I can see the supplies they won piled up onto a pyramid with rugged and torn ground surrounding them; I smirk to myself and think, _The landmines… thank you, Gerry. May you be at peace._

Scanning the area once more, I can barely make out the tall form of the boy from 1—Marvel, I believe his name is, sitting away from the two slightly, pushing something into a backpack. A large spear is strapped to his back; my blood runs cold when he looks up. Following his gaze, I see a plume of smoke rising up above the treetops. Turning his head towards Cato and the girl, I can hear him say something along the lines of, "I'll check…"

_No, no, no…!_ Scrambling out of the bush as quickly and silently as I can, I stoop low and make toward that direction, hoping to cut him off before I can get to Rue. Looking back I can see Cato and his partner heading off in the opposite direction, toward the mountains.

Once I am sure I will not be heard, I begin to pick up my pace a little. My thoughts immediately turn dark and grim as I imagine the cold steel of my blade biting into Marvel. _You will not _touch_ this girl!_

As I head toward the grey cloud springing from the trees, I remember something; I hadn't seen the girl from District Four among the throng… so where could she be?

But then my thoughts are broken by a loud burst of sound—an explosion. Katniss must've gotten it to work; yet I cannot dwell on it now. I must fulfill my objective: to prevent Rue or Katniss from being injured, and lest Cato or his partner—or even the girl from Four—stumble upon her, then Katniss shall be fine. Right now, Marvel is the immediate threat.

Moving through the verdant forest as quickly and silently as my feet will allow me, the wind blows my direction and I'm able to catch a snippet of conversation; one sounds like the boy from One: "Azora! You saw it too? …I think I heard something around here… hey! One of my nets has been sprung!"

_No... no, please don't let it be… _"Hey! It's that girl from Eleven!"

Picking up speed I come upon the clearing where Rue is bound in a net; I see Marvel and the girl—Azora, I assume—running directly toward her; apparently I had managed to get on the opposite side of them.

They have not seen me, not yet. Azora is the quickest out there, a trident readied to stab at Rue, but immediately I unsheathe my sword and leap at her, jabbing with the tip of my sword. Caught unawares, she stumbles and falls into a bush, giving me the opportunity to ram my blade into her gut. A bloody wound opens, crimson falling onto green leaves.

A cannon fires soon after, but then I remember my primary target—Marvel.

Just as his fist impacts with the side of my head.

I fall onto the hard ground, sword skittering away, and roll out of the way as his spear stabs into the soil beside me. His face is contorted with a wild grin and a crazy look is in his eyes. He tries to stab the spear into my head several more times, but eventually I'm able to trip him, but he gets up quickly. He's at least three inches taller than myself, and as I've managed to stand up, he headbutts me to the ground and I roll in the direction of my netted friend. As she struggles against the bonds, Marvel rears back his spear. Crawling to get to my knees, I'm able to feel the spear pass just above my head…

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

I've made my way toward where the sound of fighting is coming from; the girl from Four rests wide-eyed and limp on a bush, blood spilling out onto the leaves and branches. Thorin battles the boy from One, and I can see the spear pass just over his head into… "_Rue!_" I cry loudly as the spear enters her body. Thorin turns his head and sees this, and time seems to stop for a moment, standing still like in the story Thorin used to tell about the Iron Hill.

His head turns slowly to look at the boy from District One…

…and that is the moment in which all hell breaks loose.

* * *

><p><strong>AAAANDDDDD there we have it, the moment I've been waiting to write for several weeks but honestly haven't known how to. I'm so sorry that this took so long to write but I've had three different projects due for some classes and then two essays, so I've had a bit of a full plate on my hands. I promise I'll try to keep it from running this long again, but for now this is where I want to stop. <strong>

**But yeah, nothing really to say here besides I just wanted to get to this point for now, and hopefully I'll actually be able to have a new chapter up within a few weeks. **

**One last thing, the two quotes from the very beginning—"I'll dare you," and "Come out, you coward" come directly from "When Time Stands Still (At the Iron Hill)" by Blind Guardian, which I referenced last chapter as well. Plus, have any of you noticed what Thorin's preferred type of killing has been so far?**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite. Hope you all have a wonderful week and month and all, until we meet again my friends! **

**~Jordan**


	12. XII: They Will Burn, They Will Bleed

**Disclaimer: Me no own nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter XII: They Will Burn, They Will Bleed<strong>

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

The spear sticks into Rue's side, piercing the netting. Thorin's eyes follow the arc of the weapon as it strikes our captured friend, and the steel grey orbs widen in shock when the blood erupts into the air. His head turns almost mechanically to the boy from District One…

…and the world around us goes silent. No birds chirp, no creatures rustle the leaves; the wind itself seems to halt in anticipation. My heart hammers against my very chest as I stare at Thorin, a vicegrip of ice clenching around me as I wait anxiously to see what he does. And a moment later, Thorin makes his move…

And all hell breaks loose.

First his grey eyes focus on the brownish eyes belonging to Rue's killer, hardening to now match the very steel of his blade; then he says in a grim monotone, "The Flames of Oqther await you." And he jumps up, forehead smashing into One's head, causing him to stagger backward, blood gushing from his broken-looking nose. Not yet making for his sword, Thorin relentlessly assaults the boy from One, now lacking a weapon, with his fists, striking every part of the taller boy that he can. Thorin's lips curl up into a ferocious snarl, eyes brimming with hatred; his hands bloody the boy as they impact repeatedly, uttering incoherent words that sound like gibberish.

"_Zu'u fent lom golt voth hin sos!_" is all I can catch. I've never heard him say anything like that before, though I have caught snippets of conversations between his family and others who live with them that had a similar sound to those words.

Then Thorin removes the knife from a pouch on his pack. It's really more of a short sword than a knife, actually, with a long hilt and a blade that shines a pearly white; the weapon, hilt and all, is no longer than one of my own arrows. Headbutting the boy to the ground and pinning him with his knees, Thorin looks down upon the boy of District One. "As Rue shall certainly find her way to the Isle of the Blest, you shall face torture inside the Maw of Surein!" he screams, driving the little sword incessantly into everything he can stab, tears flowing down his face and intermingling with the bloody flowers blooming on the other boy.

Even after the boy's cannon fires, meaning his heart has surely stopped, Thorin continues stabbing and screaming and sobbing. My best friend only ceases this brutality after we both hear Rue's weak voice cry out for us. At the soft voice, Thorin immediately drops his sword and runs over to her, kneeling beside her and talking in a soothing tone. I quickly rush to their side, dropping to my knees.

"You will be fine, Rue…" says Thorin softly, face hidden by a curtain of black hair. "Just don't close your eyes…"

My heart aches as I look at Rue, her small body curled around the spear. Thorin keeps trying to reassure her, but she isn't in denial—she knows this is the end. But she has just one request of us…

"Sing," she whimpers softly.

I glance to Thorin, who nods gently. "Katniss…" he says quietly, turning his head slightly so that one of his eyes is visible.

Nodding in understanding, I clear my throat, choking back tears at seeing Rue like this, having to fulfill her last request. I sing out,

"_Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…_

_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm…_"

Thorin joins in softly as we continue,

"_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true, _

_Here is the place where I love you…_"

Rue's brown eyes are drifting now, drooping as if heavy with sleep. Thorin is shaking with sobs. I quickly cut Rue free of the net which has trapped the girl, and she raises a trembling limb and places a hand on Thorin's muscular arm. "Thorin… don't cry…"

Thorin wipes his eyes with his left arm and looks up, eyes focusing on hers. Softly he says to her, "Rue… try to stay awake, just a little bit longer… I have one song left," and he clears his throat and sings out loudly and beautifully.

"_Pale faced, the innocent will drown in blood,_

_Hurt and withdrawn… don't dare to steal my grief,_

_In this haze of green and gold, she's gone…_

_Blind my eyes, and I still can see through the mist,_

'_Till the very end, where I'll face what I fear the most,_

_Blind my eyes, but it all doesn't matter right now…_"

He chokes up a bit before he finishes, watching her body begin to go limp,

"_Soon you all shall be free…_

_Carry the blessed home…_

_No one's left here but me, and I'll sing out your name!_"

Her eyes close slowly and a calm smile is etched on her face. The tears flow freely from both Thorin and I. His voice, hoarse and choked with sorrow, whispers gently, "Rue… I swear that this shall not go unpunished… _**each of them…**_

_**They will burn, and they will bleed!**_"

* * *

><p>After "burying" Rue in a bed of flowers, Thorin and I slowly leave the site, but not before I turn and press my index, middle and ring fingers to my lips and hold them out as a salute to our fallen friend. Thorin does not look anywhere but forward, and says nothing. I fear that this will be the breaking point…<p>

"Katniss." Thorin says gruffly. He stops walking and I do as well. "This is where I leave you. I will finish this on my own terms." Turning to look over to me, he grasps my hands gently. "I have sworn to protect you—but I fear that I cannot do so until the pair from District Two are gone."

"Thorin, you can't possibly think you can take them both on by yourself!" I protest, staring him dead in the eyes. A gasp escapes from my lips when I notice the coldness in his eyes, as if they were their own frozen worlds.

"I can, and I will," he retorts, the frozen eyes gleaming. He is tense. "No amount of fools from any District are worth even one warrior such as myself, especially in a fair fight."

"Do you think they'll really play fair?!"

"No." He smiles wickedly at me, and for a moment a claw of icy fear grips me when I see the malicious intent within him. "Nor did I say that I would, either."

"Thorin…"

"I must do this Katniss. I do not know whether we will meet again, so I ask that you forgive me for this," he says gently, eyes softening.

"For what…" I begin, but I'm silenced when he leans in and presses his lips to mine, gently. A moment after it begins, I slowly start to lean into the kiss but he breaks it off before we can get too engrossed.

"Goodbye, Katniss," says Thorin grimly. "If we do not meet again…"

He looks to the ground sadly. His next words strike me to the core:

"…_Do not forget me._"

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><p><em>No Specific POV<em>

Night falls quickly after Thorin's departure from Katniss. After leaving her behind, the descendant of Arnthorr turned his sights to the direction of the Career's camp.

But that is not his target. Not yet.

After the slaying of Glimmer and the Tracker Jacker incident, Thorin decided that if he were to take on the Careers, he would be best to have a powerful ally on his side—not saying that Katniss is not powerful in her own right, of course! In Thorin's own opinion, there is none he would rather have at his side for ranged combat, though if he could have both he would be very accepting of Gale.

However, at this moment, there is but one person Thorin seeks, a certain District partner of the little girl he just sang to.

Thresh.

At first Thorin sought Holden, a few days prior to this one. Unfortunately, however, the male of District Ten was slain in the previous evening, most likely by the Careers—and do not believe even for a minute that Thorin shall let this go without retribution!

Yet as strong as the boy is, without the powerful ally that Thresh would prove to be, Thorin knows he would not be able to stand up to the pair of Cato and Clove.

That is why after skirting the edges of the Career camp, keeping eyes and ears peeled in alertness, he finally comes to the border—what is essentially the edge of the wild. Turning his back to the camp, a sprawling sea of tall grass floods out before him, washing over the landscape for miles and miles. Sighing to himself, Thorin frowns; Thresh could be anywhere in those waves of grain.

After a moment, Thorin laughs bitterly at his own plight, shouldering his pack and readjusting the straps that keep his sword tethered to him, and walks off into the grass.

As the grass floods up to just below Thorin's shoulders, his singing could be heard loudly resounding.

"_Let this game begin… _

_Watch, my children,_

_Watch me, you've all come to die!_

_For this battle is lost!_

_Losing your minds, _

_Losing your souls…_"

If one were to look from the Career camp at this moment, they will realize that it is impossible to now see Thorin.

"_Say goodbye my friend,_

_Here's your promised end!_

_Be a part of the Grand Parade!_

_Along we're driven, on and on_

_It's a Grand Parade._

_We're one, we're so sorry to say,_

_It's all the same you will see!_

_On this Grand Parade!_

_Damnation,_

_Now join the Grand Parade!_"

And deep in the forests, and all across the arena, Thorin's singing can be heard. Invading the ears of the still gobsmacked Katniss Everdeen, assaulting the mind of Cato Aurelius and feeding the flames of hatred within Clove Marcallas, bringing the sensitive ears of Amber Catan and piquing the interest of the fox-like redhead, and merely bringing a smile to the face of Thresh Drogo, who is closest to the voice and knows that his friend is seeking him.

* * *

><p><strong>And there we have it folks! You can clearly see the overall plan that Thorin is working on, how his mind works, and how smart he really is; he's not just a bundle of blind devotion and protection, you know. He knows his own strengths and weaknesses and realizes that he can't do this alone—though when considering the fact that there are two Careers, Cato and Clove, the former being incredibly strong and the latter being near as deadly with her knives as Katniss is with arrows, most people could realize that they would have little chance of survival alone. <strong>

**We've also seen a bit of developing romance between Thorin and Katniss, although we don't get too much of Katniss's views on the kiss, but we can be sure that Thorin enjoyed it, yeah? And then… there's a dark side of Thorin that we get to see, full of rage and hatred unleashed once you hurt someone he cares for. As a side note, the words Thorin says are in Thu'um, the Dragon Language of the Elder Scrolls series, or more specifically Skyrim since it's been a while since I've played any of the games but that, and it basically quotes Dain Ironfoot in **_**Battle of the Five Armies**_**: "I'll water the ground with your blood!" I'll be using Thu'um as sort of a language of the Mountain-folk, and a few of the things I had Thorin yell about (Such as the Flames of Oqther and the Maw of Surein) are to create a sort of religion for the Mountain-folk. I want them to be as close to a real culture as I can make them. **

**Now, as for the songs used; the title comes from the Blind Guardian song, "At the Edge of Time." The song that Thorin sings to Rue as she dies is "Carry the Blessed Home," also by Blind Guardian, and lastly as Thorin wades off into the field, he sings "Grand Parade" by… you guessed it, Miley Cyrus… just kidding, it's by Blind Guardian too.**

**Anyway, as always, if you've enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a follow/favourite/review. I hope you have a good week/month/rest of the year, whatever. Until we meet again, my friends!**

**~Jordan**


	13. XIII: The Dragon Makes His Move

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XIII: The Dragon Makes His Move<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

The waves of grain and tall grass wave around me in a gentle tango with the breeze, swaying back and forth. The sun wanes gently behind a few peaks on the horizon, framing them with a halo of golden light. Lining the rolling field that spreads out before me is the forest, enclosing it on the right and left and widening in a pyramid-like manner, probably fading out at some point before the field touches the foothills of the mountains. A few small hills pop out here and there amongst the tall grass, the shadows of the tall forest trees casting over them like cloaks in the orange glow of the dying sunlight.

Gripping the hilt of my sword tightly, my grey eyes fan across the area, unwilling to drop my guard; there is no limit to the dangerous creatures—or even plants—that could be lurking inside the grass. Quietly I push through the greensward, occasionally hacking away at a few of the taller prairie grass with my dagger and doing as best as I can to not make any sound. The grass a few metres away from me rustles a bit more than it did, and I freeze in my tracks. Growling reaches my ears, and slowly I look over to see a large (width-wise; their legs are very short and low to the ground) cat-creature with yellowish-brown fur and a fang-filled maw dripping with saliva. I draw my sword just as it leaps and hold the blade out toward the creature, but no weight pushes at me as it would should the cat have impaled itself, or otherwise.

Looking to the side I can see the cat lying on the ground, a bloody curve slashed into its midsection, and then above it there's a large outline of a person; I have to grin. There's nobody else left alive quite as tall as this person, beating me by two inches if I remember correctly. His dark head pokes out a few inches above the tall grass, shoulders fully out of it. "Gotta watch out for those," he says, sheathing a gleaming sickle-sword, "ran into my fair share on the first night."

"How have you survived with these beasts about?" I muse, "After all, they are small and nigh undetectable in these fields."

"To an untrained eye, perhaps," says Thresh, "but I come from District 11—back home I could spot Rue in the middle of a cornfield, and you know how short she was," he looks to the ground and his eyes shade for a moment, "so I can spot these things with relative ease."

"It is a good thing I came to you, then," I say.

"Yes, so it seems," replies Thresh in a cryptic manner; "tell me, my friend. What exactly is it that you need?"

Pausing slightly to consider my words, I state, "Cato and Clove, the final two Careers, are undeniably strong, yes? Cato is a larger threat than Clove, for though she is decent at long-range fighting, the can also be dispatched by someone further away—but it is Cato that is my biggest worry."

The corners of my friend's mouth quirk up slightly, as he says jokingly, "So you want me as your meat shield against Cato."

"Yes, that is _exactly_ what I was hoping for," I respond with an eye-roll.

"Then do tell me what it is you want,"

"Shall we find somewhere to sit first?"

"Very well," says Thresh, and we walk through the fields carefully, crossing over a hill and then coming to rest about halfway from the start of the field and halfway from the foothills of the mountains, just behind a slightly larger hill than the one we crossed previously. The hill is covered by a large bush with a few grain plants waving around it. A shelf that is about half my height indents about halfway into the hill, granting a little bit of cover from the spreading leaves of the bush. A small stone pit with a few twigs and dry grasses is thrown together a few feet away from the shelf, obviously a firepit; a second sickle-sword and a small mace are placed by the fire pit.

Sitting down on one edge of the fire pit in the darkening light, Thresh strikes a few rocks together and sparks up the twigs and grass. I take my seat on the other side and absorb some warmth, removing a loaf of bread from my bag and breaking it in half, offering one half to Thresh, who accepts it graciously. He looks expectantly at me, so I begin relaying my plan to him: "We can agree that Cato and Clove, the final two Careers, are large threats, yes?" he nods, so I continue: "Clove, I must say, is a much lesser threat than Cato; on the first day I was able to cause her to stumble with a single punch, so she should not be difficult hand-to-hand, though I cannot deny her excellent aim with throwing-knives, but a skilled archer—Katniss—should be able to pick her off from afar if necessary. Cato, though, is the bigger problem.

"Here is how I see it—since the first day I had been observing them whenever I came around the area, and it seems to me as if Cato and Clove care for each other greatly. That is why I believe that in order to defeat Cato with relative ease, we must remove Clove from the equation first. If we can kill Clove, it is possible that we can lure Cato here perhaps out of revenge, and then we can take him by surprise, just as the cat nearly took me by surprise. And if both of us attack at the same time, there is no way he can take two strong fighters such as us in a sneak attack, especially if we can attack in the dark." A wicked grin crosses my face as Thresh lets out a low whistle.

"Did you just come up with all that on the spot?" he asks, impressed.

I shake my head, "No. Or at least, not the first part. I had thought that this would be the best place to ambush him, in this field, though we could have just as easily taken him by surprise in the forests or mountains. However, you know how to move quietly in the fields and I can be the bait if we need any so this seems to be the best option."

Thresh grins at me. "Well, let's see how this turns out."

"You are in then?"

"Hell yes."

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><p>Night fell and Thresh and I took turns sleeping, the one sleeping trusting the guard not to slit his throat in his sleep. We woke at the crack of dawn, gearing for an attack. As I tuck a few more daggers into my belt—and one into my left boot… and another into my jacket, pants and other boot—a fare of trumpets rings out, and a loud voice resounds through the arena.<p>

"Attention tributes, upon further examination of the guidelines of the Games, the Gamemakers have come to a conclusion that should two tributes of the same District be the final two standing, then they both may be announced as Victor. That is all."

Thresh and I look at each other. "You heard that?" he asks.

"No shit," I respond grimly. "Before you do anything, you know that I will not—"

The larger, slightly older boy silences me by raising his hand. "I trust you, Thorin. I know that you will not strike me down dishonourably."

I smile a little. "Good. Now let us be on our way. The sooner we can eliminate Clove, the sooner we can kill Cato as well. I believe that we shall find Katniss on our way as well, and she can help us."

And thus we set off westward, planning to edge our way along the forest to the Careers' camp. Ferocity radiates from Thresh and I—in our nightly conversation I had let him know that it was the fault of the Careers that Rue had died, and that awoke something in him that ignited a volcanic grudge within him. "The first thing I do, should I become Victor," he said to me last night, "I will publicly denounce the Career Districts and curse the names of those of our Games!"

I did what I could to assuage him, to calm him lest his rage get ahead of him, like I believe it had Holden, but he has yet to let it go. I fear now that he will try to take on Cato alone, before we may ambush him. Turning my head slightly to look at him, I grimly respond, "Let us find Katniss first. It would be unwise to engage them without some sort of support."

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><p>Twelve days; that is all I know. It has been twelve days and nineteen deaths since we have entered the arena, and with a little bit of good luck, I believe that we may only be in here for less than three more days and possibly only three more deaths if I may survive with Katniss.<p>

An hour has passed since Thresh and I left the safety of the field, skirting along the treeline and skulking about the bushes in our search for Katniss. Around a clearing where Rue was to set a fire when we had planned to blow up the Careers' food supply was where we found her, sifting through her pack and readying her arrows, which appeared to be stained with a strange-looking juice—possibly a poison from her mother's book. She eyed Thresh warily when we first arrived, but she came to ease soon enough, despite almost shooting at us when we snuck up on her. Now we stand a few metres away from the Careers' camp at the Cornucopia, where Clove and Cato are resting. They were likely out hunting for one of us, or even the red-haired girl who I haven't even seen since the beginning.

"Nock one up," I whisper to Katniss, who nods slowly and draws back her bow, levelling it to aim. The string pulls taut and she releases, the air flying as the wind twists around it like furled wings, piercing through some netting just above Clove's shoulder. Clove's attention snaps to us as I mutter, "Shit!" and Cato looks up as well, hand moving to his sword.

Thresh looks at me and I glance around, looking for any possible advantage we can make; perhaps if we could cut a tree limb down… no, that wouldn't work; not as effectively as it could in a different situation, at least. Sighing, I tell him, "Either we rush them or run. If we rush them, then Katniss will lay down a cover fire, otherwise we send Katniss ahead of us and I will trail behind to keep them back." The look in his brown eyes tells me everything. "Very well."

My left hand grips my sword, whilst Thresh removes the twin sickle-swords from his back. Katniss nocks another arrow and fires again, and again, causing Clove to take cover. Thresh and I leap from our cover in the bushes and take off across the grassy plain, swords drawn and ready to attack. Cato meets us at the mouth of the Cornucopia with his own sword out, and slashes at Thresh, who blocks it in the curve of one of his swords and swings with the other, which Cato ducks under.

As Thresh and Cato engage each other I roll behind Cato and take a swipe at his leg, which I just barely miss before having to drop to the ground to avoid one of Clove's knives. I hear my friend utter a cry of pain from beside me and see that Cato has barely nicked him with the tip of his sword on the hip—a place where Thresh was already more than a little weak in. Jumping up I punch Cato in the back of the head, sending him sprawling as another knife comes flying toward us, this one silvery with a few holes in the middle to cut down on wind resistance; however, just as it would hit my shoulder it is plucked out of the air by an arrow, pinning it to a tree. Running over to where Clove is she and I engage in close combat, hand to hand at first before she draws a dagger to try and cut me with, but I block and parry with a dagger from my belt and strike back at her. She and I carry out this fight for what feels like hours but in reality is most likely less than a minute as Thresh and Cato resume fighting behind us. Another grunt of pain from Thresh causes me to lose focus just as I had a clear shot at Clove's throat but instead it just slashes across her chest, causing her to cry out and gain Cato's attention.

Thresh is on the ground still obviously breathing but apparently immobile, unable to get his legs to work properly. Cato abandons his assault on Thresh and turns toward me, running at me with his sword; I side-step away and manage to escape the brunt of the blow, only getting a slight cut on my shoulder. Rather than finish the fight now and risk losing Thresh, I decide to cut our losses by giving Katniss the signal to retreat and doing all I can to help Thresh to his feet. Half-running, half-limping away I carry Thresh off into the field on the heels of Katniss, though Cato was originally after us but left us alone when we plunged into the field—he's not as stupid as I thought. Regretfully, this will take more planning.

We will not be out of here within three days.

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><p><strong>There we go folks, this chapter was mostly meant to be an insight into Thorin's strategically-thinking mind which will come to be an invaluable tool in the coming future, primarily in the next few books. Speaking of the next few books, would you guys prefer that I keep at the very least Catching Fire within this story instead of starting a new one for that? Anyway I don't really have much to say because this chapter was released quicker than the last one so no need for apologies, although just saying that the action's gonna be picking up real quick because as you read the rule about two victors from the same District has been announced and you saw a little bit of fighting between Cato and Clove against Thresh, Thorin and Katniss, as well as a bit of a fatal flaw developing in Thresh, maybe?<strong>

**Anyway I just wanted to say one last thing before I go and that is that the title of this chapter, "The Dragon Makes His Move" is a bit of a reference to the title of a song by HammerFall, "The Dragon Lies Bleeding."**

**Lastly everyone, thanks for reading, and as always, if you liked, follow/favourite, maybe even leave a review. I might not say it enough (or ever) but thank you so much to those of you who do review because you guys give me happiness that people are actually reading my story and enjoying it; but before I go (again) I have to apologise to Robynhood13 for his review asking for Thresh to survive and be paired up with Johanna. I'm sorry friend but it is actually essential to the story that Thresh dies, and even if he were to survive Johanna has another purpose that the ever-faithful CalebElBardo knows about.**

**As always though, thank you so much for reading everyone. Have a wonderful time, until we meet again!**

**~Jordan**


	14. XIV: Heeding the Call

**Disclaimer: Me no own nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter XIV: Heeding the Call<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

Kneeling beside the dim campfire in the midst of the wheat field, I take a deep breath; Thresh lies somewhere between sleep and wake underneath the ridge, some cloth which I managed to swipe from Marvel's body bound tightly around his hip, where Cato's sword bit into him, as a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the blood-flow. Beside me, poking at the fire with a stick, is Katniss, whose bow and arrows rest at her side; she stares solemnly at the orange flames, occasionally glancing up at the diamond-marked sky. Smiling grimly I say to her, "This did not go as planned, not at all."

"I can tell," she says softly, nodding. Frowning, she looks up from the flames and asks, "What did you hope to accomplish, Thorin?"

"You were there for the planning, you should—"

"I didn't ask what was planned. I asked what you had hoped to accomplish."

"Cato and Clove dead on the ground," I say.

"And what about Thresh?"

Sighing, I use my sword to prod at the flames. I had not anticipated that, for I was sure that we would not be able to kill both Cato and Clove. Perhaps I should have thought further of this…

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

Night has since fallen and I ordered Thorin to go to bed—it would be best if I took first watch. Staring deep into the flames, I keep my ears alert for the sound of anyone or anything smashing through the field. As the false stars dance in the artificial sky and the crickets and insects and even a few wolves sing their songs, I remember a song that Thorin taught me a few years ago.

Closing my eyes and hearing the crackle of the fire, I allow my breathing to fall into a steady rhythm as I begin to sing:

"_Now you all know_

_The bards and their songs._

_When hours have gone by, I'll close my eyes;_

_In a world far away, we may meet again,_

_But now hear my song about the dawn of the night,_

_Let's sing the bard's song…_"

Leaning up against the side of the hill, just to the edge of where the ridge ends, my voice becomes steadily louder until it is nearly like a roar to me:

"_Tomorrow will take us away, far from home,_

_No one will ever know our names!_

_Tomorrow, all will be known, and you're not alone!_

_So don't be afraid of the dark and cold!_

_But the bard's songs will remain…_"

"I've always told you that you have a beautiful voice," I hear Thorin mutter from the other edge of the fire. There is some rustling by him as he pushes himself up; "Do you believe me now?" I can see the fire flickering in his eyes. "You were, however, a little bit late on the refrain, my friend."

Smiling gently, I ask, "How long have you been awake?"

"I never went to sleep."

I have to snort a little; I had expected that response—I know that he rarely sleeps, at least for very long. "I'm not surprised; however, I am a little surprised that you didn't join in," I say.

Groaning a little, he rolls—literally _rolls_—from his side of the camp to mine, coming to rest and sitting back up right beside me, in front of Thresh's legs. He grins a little; "Is it so bad that I enjoy hearing your voice?" I have the decency to blush, thank whatever gods there may be out there that it's dark out! "Your voice is soothing to me. It makes me happy to hear it."

"Then why don't you ever smile?"

"I do smile," says Thorin, "on the inside." I smile a little more. "I just… don't like my feelings to be known. If my weakness is picked up on, or my emotions get in the way, I can get distracted, and if I get distracted I can be injured or killed." I can hear very clearly the fear in his voice—something only I have been able to pick up on. The fear that he spoke of on the train ride—it's resurfacing, now that we are nearing the end of this.

Putting my arm around his shoulders—it's a little awkward, considering he is taller and his shoulders are broader—I lean my head against him. "You cannot worry about that. There's only us three, Cato, Clove and then the girl from 5 left. It's not like you have to defend me from a massive crowd anymore."

"Half of us died on the first day, it was hardly a massive crowd," scoffs Thorin. "The Careers were the only ones I was really worried about; and still two live, and they defeated my plan! They are obviously a decent pair." He sighs grimly. "I fear that I will not make it much longer, for I do not know if I will be able to kill Thresh out of sheer brotherhood."

A knowing sigh escapes my lips as I turn my head to face him. "Thorin, I…" I trail off as I look back into the fire.

An awkward silence comes to settle between us. It is then that I finally decide to ask the question that has been probing my thoughts for days:

"Why did you kiss me?"

A soft chuckle elicits from him; "I knew you would ask that sooner or later," he says. "It is… difficult to explain."

"Well we don't exactly have any appointments to keep," I say.

"And that's where you are wrong," says Thorin, "it is very likely that, with the current competition, one—specifically me—or even both of us has an appointment with death." At the look I give him, he sighs and speaks. "I am not entirely sure why I did it, I must admit, but I suppose I should start with… I care deeply about you. You are my best friend, the best I have ever had; you have seen the lengths I will go to in order to keep you safe." He looks down. "I fear that it is no longer out of friendship that I will do this; rather I fear that I may have grown deeper affections for you."

"Uhm… just kiss already!" groans Thresh, undoubtedly awakened by our conversation. "It's surprisingly painful to listen to you two, what with all that poetic shit!"

"Go back to sleep, Thresh," says Thorin darkly, his face shaded by his hair as he looks into the fire. Thresh laughs quickly before he rolls back over and attempts to go back to sleep. "I am sorry that I have been unclear about these things, but when you are aware of your probable death…"

"Thorin," I interrupt. "Stop talking." He closes his mouth and turns to look at me, and I lean in and surprise him with a slow kiss. Pulling away after a few moments, I say, "I care about you as well. And that is why I will not let you die."

Smiling slightly, he replies, "It seems as if the tables have turned for us," and leans in to kiss once more.

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><p><em>The Next Day<em>

Thorin and I awake in each other's embrace, nestled against the side of the hill. Thresh sits off to the side, seemingly awaiting us; "You're up, I see. Good. There's a feast going on, and I am going to it; I don't know if you are, so this may be the last time we meet." He grins at us. "I see you took my advice."

"Shut it, Thresh," says Thorin with a blush. He stands up, walking over to our teammate—no, _friend_, is the right word—and holds out his hand; Thresh takes it and pulls him in for a hug. "Be safe out there, friend. Do not trust those bastards for a minute. We—or at least I—will be there shortly." Thresh smiles at Thorin and stalks off over the hill despite a slight limp. Thorin—_my_ Thorin—turns to me and asks, "What would you have us do? Will you stay here, should I go to the feast?"

"As if I'm going to let you go alone," I say with a smile, pushing myself up and readying my arrows. Before we set out we eat a light breakfast of bread and some meat that Thresh had stored for us and then set off into the field.

"We are getting out of here," says Thorin lightly, "together…" He smiles, and I mean truly, openly smiles. He is… happy; I have legitimately never seen this sort of smile, nor this tone of voice. It makes me smile as well, and my heart skips a beat.

For several minutes we walk cautiously through the fields, being wary of whatever comes around us; I shoot a few beasts whilst Thorin beheads one larger beast, but else we are roughly unbothered. As we move along slowly, coming close to the boundary between the field and starting area, Thorin begins to sing in a low voice,

"_Heeding the call, one and for all,_

_Never surrender! With glory we fall!_

_Brothers unite, we'll stand up and fight!_

_Fulfilling our faith, we are heeding the call…_"

When we finally reach the grass and see the golden horn towering above us, he silences himself as he puts his arm before me to halt me. He motions to look around, and I do so, crouching in the tall grass; he stands up, circling around as if to draw anyone out. I notice that in the centre of the Cornucopia is a tall oaken table with bags marked with numbers—likely for the Districts; there is one for District Two, one for Five, one for Eleven and finally one for our own Twelve. The bag for Two is larger than the one for ours, the one for Eleven is larger than the one for Five, and the one for Eleven is larger than the one for ours as well—in short, ours is the smallest, possibly from a lack of need. From here I can see Thresh's dark hair on one edge of the Cornucopia, but neither Cato nor Clove are to be seen… and then I see her, the girl from Five; she runs out of the Cornucopia very quickly, snatching her bag and taking off toward the forest. I nock an arrow but I catch Thorin's eye and he shakes his head, so I let the bow go slack.

After a moment Thorin circles around to the other side of the Cornucopia and I can no longer see him; I decide to take a chance and run out to the table. Snatching the bag, I begin to run back toward my cover in the field when something slams into my back and knocks the wind out of me as I fall to the ground. Rolling over I barely dodge the blade of a knife impacting the ground; I see Clove, dark hair, pale skin and all kneeling over me, pinning me to the ground. She laughs dangerously.

"Looks like your luck's ran out, Fire Girl!" she taunts, pulling out another knife. "Your boy toy isn't here to save you now; he went off right in Cato's direction. Looks like we're going to be killing two birds with one stone," she says, "and since your little follower Rue is gone, we've only gotta deal with Thresh, and then we'll be out of here… now what happened to little Rue? Oh right… _we killed her_. And you're next." She traces the edge of the knife along my face, cutting my cheek ever so slightly. "How about you blow one last kiss for your soon to be dead boyfriend, eh? Right before you meet him? C'mon, pucker your lips…"

I pucker my lips in response, but work up a mixture of saliva and a little bit of blood and spit right in her eye; "F*ck you!" I growl.

"Screw the cheek, I'm starting with the lips," she says angrily, tracing a small line around my lips with the knife. I'm trying to struggle but she's got my arms pinned with her knees, until she's lifted off me.

"GET OFF HER!" I hear the voice of Thresh roar as he lifts her over his head and throws her into the Cornucopia. He runs over and grabs her by the collar, lifting to her feet and pressing her roughly against the blindingly gold surface. "What did you say about Rue?! What the f*ck did you say?! Did you kill her?" she's trying to stammer and beg her way out of it, but he roars, "ENGLISH, MOTHERF*CKER! DO YOU SPEAK IT?!" He grabs a rock. "DID YOU F*CKING KILL HER?!"

"N-no!" she finally squeaks out, "No! It wasn't me, I swear!"

"LIAR!" Thresh yells! He smashes the large rock into her head once, twice, three times until there's a large dent in her head. A cry for her friend falls dead on her lips as she collapses to the ground. A cannon fires shortly after as Thresh helps me to my feet. Sweat glistens against his skin as he breathes heavily, teeth bared in rage. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Wiping a little bit of blood away from my face, I nod. "Yeah, I'm good. A little cut up but I'll be fine…" I realise that my arrows have fallen from my back, as has my bow. "Hey, have you seen my bow… oh shit…" I breathe, seeing that the silver wood of my bow has snapped, undoubtedly from the scuffle between Clove and I, the bowstring slack and snapped; the arrows slipped from their quiver and are strewn throughout the place like tossed straw, a few of them snapped. Aside from a knife Thorin gave me, I am now defenceless.

That's when we hear the voice rising up over the trees, "CLOVE?!"

"Shit," Thresh and I say together. Looking to the woods I see Thorin burst out with a large cut on his arm, yelling, "Go! Go!" Thresh nods and grabs both his pack and the pack for Two, running off into the field.

"…Where is he going?" says Thorin as he finally reaches me.

"He gone," I say, grabbing his uninjured arm. "Come on, we've got to go also." I try my best to drag him toward the woods on the very edge of the field, but he is being rather stubborn.

"I am not finished with that bastard Cato," he says, trying to stop me from pulling him.

"Yes you are," I say, moving to push him. "I just got you and I'm not going to let you throw your life away already!" Finally I am able to make him go with me into the forest, finally coming to a rest at a cave, just as some clouds are rolling in. Thunder begins to rumble and the light around us begins to dim as we have to take shelter in the cave. Rain slowly begins to fall, and as the night goes on it descends into a downpour.

Opening the pack that I snatched from the Cornucopia, inside I find a bit of salve and some bandages; I take a moment to dress Thorin's wound before attending to the cuts I received from Clove. We eat lightly once more, due to not having much food left; left in mostly darkness, we have no choice but to sit and plan out our strategy. Finally after a particularly loud rumble of thunder, the rain slowly ceases; Thorin looks outside and sighs a little. "Katniss…" he says, "Thresh is dead."

"What…?" I say, moving to look out with him, a few raindrops dripping from the entrance of the cave. I can see a distorted image in the sky, although a bronze 11 is clearly visible. There is no one else who it could be.

Thresh, the friend and ally who has helped us in our strikes against the two biggest threats—now one biggest threat—and saved my life from Clove, is dead. The one who had cared so much about Rue and was so enraged when he thought he found her killer, the one who took the biggest risk by taking Cato's pack to give us time, has fallen.

It's up to Thorin and I now. We are the only ones who can beat Cato head-on, and it is likely that the Fox-faced girl from Five will be gone soon enough.

My heart aches as I think of the fallen, how many who have had to die so that we may live. I sigh but nestle into Thorin's arms, drifting to sleep, knowing that my protector will not let anything sneak up on us, be it friend, foe or other.

My best friend. My ally. My staunchest protector and ever-faithful companion.

_Mine_.

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><p><strong>And let's call it a wrap from there, my friends! I'm sorry this was so long coming but I went with my friend Chase back to his home in Texas for a few weeks and we only recently got back, so my schedule has been kind of hectic—but the point is clear in this chapter that Katniss <strong>_**does**_** reciprocate Thorin's feelings! We've covered the Feast, Clove's death and Thresh's death (I do plan to expand on that this time around, although it will probably be in the chapters in which Thorin and Katniss are reviewing the game footage) and here we end with Katniss's claim to Thorin. Now I know there wasn't too much action covered this chapter so it may have been a little boring, but I'm gearing up for a final battle of epic proportions between Thorin, Katniss and Cato where you will see why I nicknamed Hadrian for the King Under the Mountain, wielder of Orcrist, rather than say, Durin the Deathless, Dian Ironfoot or even Fíli or Kíli. Songs covered in the chapter were "The Bard's Song (Into the Forest)" by Blind Guardian and of course "Heeding the Call" by Hammerfall.**

**Anyway that'll be all for this chapter, also hopefully one or two of you caught the movie reference used by Thresh when he was interrogating Clove. **

**As always though, thank you so much for reading everyone. Have a wonderful time, until we meet again!**

**~Jordan**


	15. XV: The Throne of Vvardenfell

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Hadrian (or Thorin, if you prefer) and his ancestors.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XV: The Throne of Vvardenfell<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

The night that Thresh died, I barely slept. As Katniss lay there against me, her soft breathing meeting my ears, the warmth of her body pressed against mine substituting for a fire, I silently prayed that the gods would guide my friend to the Isle of the Blest to meet with Rue once more; for he had truly been a good friend to me and deserved every bit of the paradise. Tears rolled down my cheeks every once in a while, for though I had not known him long I knew that I had lost a valuable ally and friend. I recalled what he told me of his family, his life back home—even his girlfriend—which he would never again see.

Because of Cato. Because of that _bastard_ Cato.

_I am going to rip him apart_.

My sword rested not too far away from me, close enough that I could reach but not close enough that I could accidentally roll onto it; my right hand slowly reached out and grabbed it, gripping the hilt tightly. "Under my foot… so _helpless_ you'll seem… you've troubled me greatly, you cretin, and you _will_ feel the pain…!" I said under my breath, careful not to wake Katniss.

Looking out the mouth of the cave and up to the artificial stars, I murmured, "Forgive me, friends, for not saying this to the true stars—but I promise you all, soon you all shall be free." I gently pulled Katniss closer to me, resting my head against hers as I tried desperately to go to sleep, eventually succumbing to the grasps of dreamland, though only for an hour or so.

When morning came, where we are now, Katniss was the one who, surprisingly, nudged me awake. Her eyes sparkled a little, but when they met with mine she frowned; she knows me too well. When we were to eat, I gave her my food, not allowing her to expend what she had left. She protested of course, but I would not hear it; I told her that we would go hunting or foraging, for there had to be some sort of food that could be found—after all, they couldn't simply create the arena with full knowledge that the Careers would dominate the food; it just wouldn't be good entertainment for the tributes to all starve because they failed to pick up something at the Cornucopia.

And that, my friends, brings us to here—a little grove just outside of the cave. Katniss called me over here a few minutes after we had split to forage (as she had broken her bow and arrows, and I no longer had any rope to make a snare with), where she showed me a large capsule wrapped in a silver parachute. "Should we open it?" she asks.

"Well, we'd be bad sports if we didn't," I say with a wry smile. Moving the silver fabric away from the capsule, I find a lid and quickly slide it open, covering the opening with my body in case there should be some sort of trap inside it—I'd heard about these before, of course, these Sponsor gifts, but you could never be too cautious—but quickly slid out of the way. Katniss eagerly fishes her hand inside, pulling out a brand new bow and a quiver full of arrows, packed so tightly that they only barely had room to clack together.

The bow is, in all honesty, a work of art—much like something that would have been created by my family, as recorded in our histories. It's simple in shape, curved like an uppercase D, though made of a fine silver (not wood or any other material _painted_ silver, but pure, honest silver) and covered in golden designs that are very similar to the language created by my ancestors for their dealings with the other families; the hand grip is made of a very fine leather, smooth and wreathed with rubies and sapphires. The arrows are also very beautiful too, or as beautiful as arrows can be—long, thin shafts of wood, this time merely coated with silver in places, with sharp steel tips and then multicolored feathers that look completely natural, not simply painted or artificially made. As I run the bow through my hands, I'm able to decipher the words inscribed upon it.

"_Welcome to the family_."

I have to laugh. There is only _one person in the known world_ who would do that—Alex, the very same "Peacekeeper" who helped us at the hand-to-hand combat station. Handing the bow back to Katniss, I'm in amused disbelief. She gives me an inquisitive look but I shake my head and respond that I'll tell her later. Going back into the capsule, she withdraws a whole basket of bread, dark and covered in seeds, no doubt full of grains—an acquaintance of mine from school (at least in the years that I went) named Peeta Mellark—who was also the one who was originally to go instead of me—had once told me all about the different breads from each District; if I remember correctly, and I most likely do, this bread is from District 11.

The home of two of our allies—and friends. Another loaf of bread follows after it, this one a pale milky white and comes with a bit of cheese—likely District 10, possibly from Holden's family. "Perhaps we no longer have to hunt," I say with a small chuckle.

"Wait—there's something more," says Katniss, pulling out a small slip of paper. Looking over her shoulder, we both read aloud: "Now that's what I like to see. Keep it up, you two –H"

"Haymitch," I say with a slight smile. Looking up to the sky, to no one in particular, I raise my hand and give a thumbs-up.

"What are you doing?"

"I really have no clue. It just feels like the right thing to do," I say, keeping my smile frozen on my face for a moment. Then I let it melt away. "Well… I suppose we picked a good time for this all to go down. Shall we continue the hunt?" At her nod, we split up once more.

As we're walking apart, I can't help but let the smile seep back onto my face because of Alex's message. He must've worked day and night to get that bow forged so quickly, especially for such a beautiful weapon. Heading toward the sound of rushing water, I grip my sword tightly—I know I won't be able to catch any game like this, most likely, but it can protect me whilst searching for berries…

…or dispatching that little sneak that has been trailing us since the Feast. The red-haired girl from 5, Amber, if I remember correctly from the Interviews, has been slowly treading behind us, feeding off of anything we may leave behind and scavenging a few of the bodies; I've caught a few glimpses of her every now and then, mostly under the light of the moon. However, she's not hurting anyone, so I suppose that she can follow, at least for a little longer—who knows, maybe she'll be able to alert me of Cato's coming—or better yet, fight him for a moment and weaken him enough for me to beat him quickly!

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><p>When we return to the cave an hour later, her with a few squirrels and myself with a satchel of berries, we sit outside for a little while, getting a fire going to cook the game. I look over the berries, laying a few aside though not specifying why, and pop a few into my mouth, savouring the sweet juices as they run down my throat. As the smoke floats up into the sky, I look down to the smouldering embers and remember something that the elders (aka my grandparents) once told me about.<p>

"Katniss… I've never told you the story about Vvardenfell, have I?"

"No, you tend to stray away from the old lore," she says. I laugh a little.

"Wonderful, then the whole world will learn about it," I say. Taking a deep breath and a swig from my canteen, I begin.

"Long ago, after the Destruction, there was a great mountain realm by the name of Vvardenfell. There were various villages and roads around that mountain, but the folk of that realm often preyed on those people, preferring to pillage and plunder rather than obtain riches from the fruit of their labour; their king was a wicked man who went by the name of Bjalfi, son of Ragnar. He declared that everything in the shadow of Vvardenfell was property of their realm and his people had the right to take as they pleased.

"Now inside of Vvardenfell there was a molten core, deep down below their treasure vault. It twisted and slammed against the walls and was often the sight of sacrifices and executions. However, in the fourth year of Bjalfi's reign, the core started to rise up in the mountain, taking out multiple levels of the mountain's city. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people died. Bjalfi requested aid from his brothers, but the only one who would dare to help this wicked, heartless bastard was his eldest brother Arnthorr, to whom Bjalfi was the wickedest. However, Arnthorr's love for his brother never faded.

"A week's ride found Arnthorr at Vvardenfell just as the lava from the core was seeping through what were once entrances into the mountainside, now becoming pores for the fire. At the top of the mountain, Bjalfi waited for his brother. Bjalfi expressed his sorrow for what he had done, and told Arnthorr that his court seer had told him of the impending destruction, but he did not believe it; he said that the only way that the lava would stop flowing would be if the blood of Mountain-kings would be spilt into the fire. The two cut themselves and sprinkled some blood into the lava, believing that it would suffice to stop the mountain.

"But it wasn't. The lava kept flowing, and from their rocky spire they came to a stunning realisation: the blood-sacrifice would be a sacrifice of their whole self. Arnthorr was fully prepared to give his life so that his brother may live, but his brother hadn't truly given up on his wicked ways. Bjalfi raised his mighty hammer and swung at Arnthorr, striking him in the back. Arnthorr fell backward, managing to rope Bjalfi with his long whip, dragging him with him. The two fell and rolled down the mountain into the lava… and their deaths weren't _necessarily_ in vain. The lava stopped a day afterward. Most people assume that the entire populace of Vvardenfell was decimated in the eruption, but nobody knows for sure…" I trail off softly. I bark out a mirthless laugh. "My mother… she always used to tell me that if I was bad, that the ash-encased corpses of Vvardenfell's dead would be filled with life and come into my bedroom and take me back to their ashen crypt." I shiver.

The sky is beginning to turn red now. It's hard to believe that I've been speaking for so long… but I must have been. Looking over to the bush where I set the berries, I see that they're gone. Amber.

Katniss seems to have been engrossed in the story, open-mouthed and in awe. "I can't believe that Bjalfi would just throw his own brother into the fire like that," she says.

"Bjalfi was a horrible man, so the stories say. What person would allow his subjects to rape and steal and kill as they pleased?" I say bitterly. "It's good that Arnthorr managed to drag him to his death with him."

A cannon cuts off the rest of my thoughts; I'm sure it has to be Amber.

"Do you think that was…?"

"Cato? No." I say. "My guess is that red-haired girl. I'd wager she ate those berries I had set over there. Nightlock, you know?"

"…Then the real battle has just begun," says Katniss grimly.

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><p><strong>There you have it! I had the inspiration for this because the album I ordered came ten days early (today) so I just needed to write this; it's mostly just them speaking with relatively little action—the only major thing that happens is Amber Catan (the name that I gave to Foxface) is killed by the Nightlock, which is one of the few deaths that actually happens as it did in the book (the others being Rue and Clove). However, Vvardenfell is going to be a major plot device in the future, more specifically when it comes to Thorin reclaiming the mountains. <strong>

**Anyway, in response to Caleb El Bardo, I do see your point about the overuse of songs—I was kind of milking it last chapter, just to get the "Heeding the Call" part in, though I did feel that "The Bard's Song" was a bit necessary in opening the dialogue that finally brought Thorin and Katniss together, but I will try to keep away from the songs for the most part. As you saw, there was no actual singing in the chapter although there were slight allusions to songs but nothing interrupting the flow of the chapter. **

**Before I conclude this, I just wanna say that I doubt that the next chapter will be out as quickly as this (this was written in about 10 hours, maybe 9 1/2 with breaks) but it will hopefully be action-packed with the final fight between the three. Then we'll move onto the closing interviews with a recap of the games (where we'll see Thresh's death) and the return home. I've decided that I'm most likely going to keep Catching Fire in this story, and probably keep Mockingjay in too and have chapters for Thorin's adventure being released side-by-side with Katniss's. **

**As always though, thank you so much for reading everyone. Have a wonderful time, until we meet again!**

**~Jordan**


	16. XVI: Nightfall

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XVI: Nightfall<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

When the howling starts, the sky is dark, very dark, as if a cloak has encompassed our little slice of hell. One moment it was midmorning, the next it's dark as night.

Needless to say, Katniss and I were startled a little. Her, possibly by the sudden shadow; myself afraid of the howling. It isn't _natural_, like the howls of wolves—these are tortured, strained cries not of bloodthirstiness but of horror and misery… and they sound almost humanlike.

With a grim chuckle, I look to Katniss and say, "It seems as if the time has come. Let us get moving." I move to pack up the bread and rabbits that we have left, as well as a pouch of berries (all Nightlock, in case Cato truly is stupid enough to eat them) and place the bread and game in my knapsack, strapping the pouch to my waist, securing my sword and each of my now-six daggers. I fashioned a makeshift holster for Katniss's bow with a few leather strips and some rope, and now it hangs safely from her quiver. I carry most of the burden, though she insists on taking the canteens.

Moving quickly, we know that we cannot stop; personally, I didn't like the sound of that howling and I don't, for the love of the gods, want to know what sort of abomination elicited those noises—and I sure as hell don't want to meet it.

As we head toward the Cornucopia, following our internal compasses toward the site of what was surely to be the final battle, there are more howls—and these are closer. Pained, haunted screams of agony, betraying untold horrors and limitless grief pierce the air. I look around wildly, no small amount of fear seizing me and causing me to stop running, only for a moment.

And there are no words to contain my regret at doing so. My eyes scan frantically, searching for the source of the howling—and finally rest on a spot between some bushes, where a quadruped, most likely a dog or wolf of some sort, with red fur the same shade as that of… _Amber_. I'm able to judge that the beast is roughly the same size as her, maybe a little bit beefier in order to be more threatening to us. I'm frozen in place out of sheer terror as a taller beast, nearly as tall as I, with brown fur and brown eyes, but with a sneer seemingly cut into its snout, crashes onto the ground before me, standing bipedal with bulging muscles. _Marvel_.

"JESUS MOTHA—"

"GO!" Katniss roars, grabbing my arm roughly and hauling me with her. Stumbling for a moment I regain my footing and follow quickly after, not stopping to look back at the creatures that the Capitol has no doubt created… though I can't help but wonder, if they've made ones of Marvel and Amber… would they have done something to Rue, Holden or Thresh?

If they have—_they will pay_.

But we can't stop—we keep on running. As we near the Cornucopia area, I hear a voice yell exactly what I did—"JESUS MOTHA—" and we come to a skidding stop metres away from each other.

Cato and I lock eyes.

Not a moment of respite for us—he and I leap into battle immediately, him swinging at me with his fists and me whipping a dagger out of my sleeve and slicing at him, managing to land a cut on his arm. He brings his own dagger and we meet each other multiple times, parrying back and forth and cutting at each other, slicing and making shallow canyons of red upon each other's skin. As our skirmish gets more intense, he rears back and kicks me in the gut, sending me staggering.

He runs at me and I cut at him with another dagger that was at my belt, but he sidesteps and tries to stab at me, which I parry—there are few who can take on Mountain-warriors sword-to-sword, or even dagger-to-dagger for so long. Katniss knows that she cannot shoot at us without possibly harming me, and I know she is not going to take the chance.

Frowning, I deliver a punch to his face to distract him and tackle him to the ground.

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><p><em>Nobody's POV<em>

**(AN: Here, to get the emotions of the fight I feel it would be best if "Gleipnir" by Skálmöld were to be played whilst reading this part)**

Cato and Thorin fight on in a standstill, the two a near-equal match for each other. Where one strikes with a dagger, the other parries and counters with a fist; if one kicks, the other moves and slashes. The two are powerful fighters, no doubt; and Katniss knows that should she try and interfere with her bow, she could possibly hit Thorin—and she is not willing to risk losing him to herself.

The two break off from their skirmish and discard their daggers, moving to opposite ends of the Cornucopia. The tension is high between the two; both breathes heavily and takes a moment to calm themselves; hearts beat rapidly against their chests out of pure adrenaline.

Thorin smiles. It is a cold smile devoid of all warmth. "You are a good fighter," says he, "but I am curious, where did you learn to fight like that? You're certainly stronger than your average Career."

A cold bark of a laugh erupts from Cato, whose face is riddled with scratches. "I should have figured a blood-kin would be able to tell," says Cato. "I am like you—and you are like me! Born of the same blood, but not the same bloodline, no!" he grins scornfully, a look of madness in his eyes as the two circle each other. Katniss attempts to take aim but she too is curious at Cato's words.

"You're not of Erebor, I can tell that much," says Thorin darkly, "and you do not bear the eyes of those from Moria nor Ered Luin." His hand moves to the sword at his hip. "I could not believe it at first, for I thought they had all died, but…" he grips the sword and removes it from the belt, levelling it before him. "You're of the Ash-mountain, yes? The Peak That Was Destroyed?"

"Hmm-hmm, very clever son of Arnthorr!" Cato too draws his own sword, mimicking Thorin's own stance. "It seems that despite us being from the different sons, the fighting-stances have little difference! Come, Lonely Son! Let us end this!"

"To arms, son of Bjalfi!" roars Thorin as the two charge at each other. "Prepare to be put down like your evil ancestor! Your death is come, Bastard of the Traitor!"

The air is thick, almost electrified under the pale light of the moon. A full silvery sphere beams down on the fighting pair, like a giant spotlight upon a staged fight—but this is real; if one of the combatants is stabbed, there is nothing to stop the blow, no fake blades in the place of true steel.

Then their blades meet, and sparks fly. Their swords grind roughly together, producing a high-pitched screeching sound as they force their full strength against one another. Cato is powerful, but he is no match for a true son of the Mountains, one who has forged and carried and fought all his life—for Cato though Cato is a Career, he has not created his own weapon, never felt what it is like to have a sword become one with him and become an extension of himself. Thorin does.

Hadrian Marlowe of District Twelve pushes roughly against Cato's blade, smashing the slightly shorter boy back. The boy nicknamed Thorin slashes as Cato staggers backward, opening a cut against his chest and slashing through his clothes. Thorin stabs at him, just barely missing him, and kicks at him, forcing him to the ground. Thorin raises his sword over his head to impale the boy of District Two, but the son of Bjalfi manages to bring his own sword up to block, swiping with it and opening a cut on Thorin's leg.

Thorin yells out loudly as Cato takes this opportunity to push himself to his feet. The two circle once more, though the son of Arnthorr now has a slight limp in his step.

Despite all this pain the two have caused, they smile at each other. Bloody smiles that lust for each other's blood, yes, but smiles nonetheless. Their eyes betray an intense hatred yet an undeniable respect for the other, and Thorin points his sword downward toward the ground, though not straight down, rather at a sharp angle. "You're doing better than I expected, traitor," says Thorin, "it seems as if I had doubted the skills of the Traitor's Bastards."

"And you, son of Arnthorr! The Lonely Ones are a damn refresher from those fools that I usually fight!" Cato says defiantly, swinging his sword at the apparently unguarded Thorin. Thorin brought his sword up at once and blocked powerfully, wincing at a slight twinge of pain in his hip from where he was cut.

Thorin steps back and slashes in with renewed force, using what strength remained to combat Cato full-force. The two were at a deadlock, standing with their swords pressed against one another, each glaring into the other's eyes. Any common sense would tell one to pull some sort of dirty manoeuvre and kill the other with some sort of trickery—but honour won out in the thoughts of each warrior, for they are true warriors; even the Bastards must have some sort of honour to provide for their disgraced house!

Sword against sword, muscle against muscle the two hardy swordsmen push against each other in a struggle for dominance, in what may certainly be the deciding blow.

"Honour be damned!" roars Cato finally, delivering a hard knee to Thorin's gut, causing the boy to double over as Cato tackles him to the ground. Lifting his own sword above his head he pins Thorin down, the latter's sword having skittered just out of grip. The two are at the very edge of the starting-area now, bushes and trees enclosing around them.

"THORIN!" Katniss cries out, trying to take aim with her bow. She draws the bowstring until it will not go further, trying to steady her hands that shake out of worry for what is hers. She looses the arrow a little too late.

Cato's sword descends in a downward arc, stabbing into Thorin's unguarded stomach. The latter roars in pain and agony, his hands struggling against Cato's legs that pin his arms down; his right arm manages to slide free of Cato and, despite the excruciating pain in his stomach as Cato removes the sword, Thorin grabs onto a branch that had been cut down in their fight and swings it roughly, catching Cato on the side and forcing him up and off, as an arrow sticks into Cato's back, eliciting a roar from the son of Bjalfi.

The son of Arnthorr's strength is returning, if only momentarily! As soon as Cato is off of him, Thorin grabs his sword and rams the blade immediately into Cato's upper torso, thrusting up through the throat and out his neck. Cato's mouth drops open in shock.

"H-how…?" whispers Cato.

Thorin is weakening as well; "Y-you have never fought a true warrior of the Mountains… y-y-you're a fucking disgrace to the name! I sp-spit on you, son of Bjalfi!" he growls out, spitting into the eyes of Cato. "True w-warriors do not l-lose strength so easily!" Thorin withdraws his sword from Cato and holds the boy to him for a minute, until the cannon fires.

Cato Aurelius dies looking into the eyes of the man who he came to hate most of all.

Thorin pushes Cato's corpse away from him, the giant beasts that were prowling the perimeter to ensure the fight happened dispersing. But Thorin's strength is fading, his breathing slowing.

With a shudder, Hadrian Marlowe falls to the ground and draws shaky breaths. Katniss cries out loudly and runs over, kneeling and holding him beneath the full moon. Tears glisten in her eyes as she caresses his head lovingly, not as she had for Rue, no, much more tenderly. "Please Thorin, stay with me—they'll take us out of here, they said so!"

A fanfare of trumpets rings out for the second time in this Games—the same voice announcing the pairing rule speaks, "Through further examination of the rules, the Gamemakers have decided that it is impossible for there to be two victors. That is all."

Thorin smiles sadly, his weak hand reaching up to caress Katniss's cheek. "I am sorry," he says weakly, "but I have failed you…" His eyes reflect something that Katniss understands immediately.

Katniss's tears flow freely—she doesn't want to live without Thorin, not after she's just gotten him! Her eyes go wide for a moment as she decides on a truly desperate tactic.

Fishing her hands into Thorin's pocket, she withdraws a berry—one that looks remarkably similar to a blueberry, if only a shade darker. Katniss rolls it around in her hand as she says softly, "Nightlock…" she lifts it to her mouth and places it on her tongue, but before her teeth break the skin…

The same fare breaks out and the voice, now frantic, cries out, "Stop! Stop immediately! May I present to you all, the Victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Hadrian Marlowe of District Twelve!"

Katniss spits out the berry and grabs Thorin's hand. "We're going home," she says.

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><p><strong>AAAANDDDDD that's a wrap, haha. I'm terribly sorry that this took longer than I expected, but I had my grandmother's birthday this past weekend as well as the Stanley Cup Finals—I mean, I couldn't just not watch those. Anyway, this probably isn't how I had originally planned it out, and it certainly differs from the canon of the books, but hey, this is Katniss and Thorin's story, not Katniss and Peeta's—as such, we have a male protagonist who can actually hold his own in a fight. <strong>

**Personally I enjoyed writing the fight and honestly I imagined it like a fight in an anime, although without as much jumping around. As such we witnessed the final battle between Thorin and Cato; it was my original intent to liken it to the final battle between Thorin and Azog in **_**Battle of the Five Armies**_**, however I decided to keep the only similarities in the ending.**

**I know that we did not see very much of the Mutts in this, but the simple fact of the matter is that there was no real need for them other than to chase the tributes together. The Gamemakers are smart enough to figure out that Thorin and Cato would be at each other almost immediately, yes? Anyway we'll find out what happens to Thorin in the next chapter, because we all know that Katniss only needs the ear surgery, but how will the Capitol, even for all its technology, keep Thorin alive? **

**I mean, obviously I know that, but you don't. One last thing, the title comes from the song "Nightfall" by Blind Guardian, from the album "Nightfall in Middle-Earth…" you can see the reason I picked that, right? Eheheh. Seriously though, good song. Same with "Gleipnir," seemed perfect for the moment.**

**Anyways, as always, thank you so much for reading everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	17. XVII: Out of the Frying-pan

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XVII: Out of the Frying-pan…<strong>

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

A bright light beats down on my face, practically blinding me as my eyes slowly open. I'm lying on a somewhat comfortable bed, like one you would find in an infirmary, covered by a sort-of stiff but warm sheet. Drawing the covers back I find that I am dressed in a white medical gown; pushing myself off of the bed, I find myself weak to stand, being forced to grab onto the bedframe to keep myself steady. After my legs stop shaking, I stand up fully and take a deep breath, examining my surroundings.

The room I am in is pristinely white without a spot of dirt to be seen; a few intricately-circuited machines are spread around the room, including a heart-rate monitor and IV drip sitting beside the bed. As I take a few steps and get used to walking again, I say in a soft, croaky voice, "Thorin?"

I make my way to the door, and it slides open with a hiss; I stumble out into the hallway and see a gurney being wheeled past me, a pale-looking Thorin resting atop it. The people pushing it move quickly, turning abruptly down a hallway and disappearing. Moving as quickly as I can, tripping over my feet and grabbing the wall for support, I try to follow them but I can't move quickly enough and when I finally reach the turn in the hallway I've utterly lost sight of them.

Stepping clumsily along and trying to catch any sight of Thorin and his crew, but finally I'm stopped by someone with long blonde hair. "Haymitch!" I say, my breath catching in my throat.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, sweetheart," he says, his breath oddly enough not reeking of alcohol. There's a serious look in his eyes. "Your little stunt has certainly garnered you a bit of attention in the Capitol… and not the good kind."

"What do you mean, Haymitch?" I ask softly as he steers me back toward my room. "Where are they taking Thorin? Is he alright?"

"Thorin's fine," says Haymitch, "or at least he's going to be. The kid took a damn sword to the gut and is still breathing, somehow. They have to put in some stuff to regulate and fix his organs, patch up some stuff… kid's a fighter, I tell you." Those words bring me hope, freeing my heart of the cruel grip of worry.

He's going to live. _He's going to live_.

"But more importantly," he says, guiding me back into my room and sliding the door shut behind us, "that little stunt you pulled with the Nightlock has caused a bit of a stirring in the Capitol—particularly amongst the higher-ups. I'm telling you this only once—if you want to live, you have to _make them believe _that this was a desperate act of a lovesick girl, hoping to get treatment for her beloved. Understand?"

I nod in response, more than a bit worried. I know that Thorin will not take kindly to this, though I also know that he will be less than happy when he finds out about how I got us both out of there; but I did what I had to to get us out of there—I'm not ready to lose him.

_I will not lose him._

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

"Nngh…!" I groan out, pushing myself up with great effort; it feels as if my organs are practically shifting with me, a stabbing pain in my lower gut. Examining my surroundings I discover that I am in an infirmary-like room, resting in a bed with the sheets now thrown back; there are no windows, but a silver sliding-door on the far end of the room. I'm dressed in a medical gown, and as I press my hand to my stomach—there's a bit of a hard feeling down there… almost cold. Hiking up my medical gown I find that right where Cato had stabbed me, there are bandages wrapped around it and underneath the bandages, I tap on it and hear the sound of _metal_. "Shit… what happened?"

The door slides open and in strides the sister of my father—Arwen. "You were stabbed, my nephew," she says, "although I'm sure you remembered that much. I can only tell you what they told me—the blade shifted around multiple organs and caused ruptures as well as a few broken ribs; the device they implanted in you is meant to, in a way, stabilise your internal systems and deploy medicines that will eventually patch up your wounds." She shrugs. "Personally I am not entirely sure what that means, but the general opinion is that you are going to be fine."

I cough and hack a little, and Arwen hands me a tissue—a little bit of blood has been coughed up. "But Cato stabbed me. How am I still alive? Wouldn't they have left me to die in there?"

The corners of Arwen's mouth quirk up in a slight smile, widening quickly. "I do believe that the fault in that lies in the hands of your mate," she says wryly, "she threatened suicide should they not bring you with them. Nightlock, you know—very clever. From what I heard, the Gamemakers said those were the only berries that looked like that in the entire Arena; as soon as she pulled those out of your pouch," she snaps her fingers. "The lowers started panicking, and Seneca Crane gave the order almost immediately."

A small, pained laugh escapes my lips. "I'll bet that the people enjoyed that—a lovesick girl practically committing suicide just to save her wounded beloved. I imagine they'll love us more than the brother-sister pair who fought in consecutive years, or even more so than Aunt Ashlei and Uncle Brannyn bringing a victory to District Six two years in a row!" I say, a grim smirk crossing my lips—"But I'll wager that didn't sit too well with the Old Man, eh?"

"If by 'Old Man' you mean President Snow, then you would be right," says Arwen. "From what I've heard, he was rather irate." She produces a bottle of water and hands it to me, bringing out her own. We crack them open at the same time and I guzzle mine down greedily, like the drunken, previously-only Victor of District Twelve. I feel refreshed. "He's dead you know, Seneca Crane."

I hum for a moment; "Oh, is he now? Old Man finally had enough of Crane's shit?"

She sips her water quietly. "The official report claims suicide," she replies, voice muffled slightly at the mouth of her water bottle. "I don't believe it. They found traces of Nightlock in his system; the only Nightlock in the entire Capitol was in the Arena, and they destroyed it all when they picked you two up. It's illegal to ship it in, so the only way he could have gotten hold of any would be if he had gone out and gathered them himself."

"They've done a full examination already? How long have I been out?"

"Three days, roughly."

Laughing bitterly, I reply, "So catering to the people gets one killed now? Can't say that I feel sorry for the guy, never even knew him—and after all, if he hadn't done this I'd be dead now."

"Very true," says Arwen as she raises her bottle. I do the same.

We tap our bottles together for a moment in a bit of a toast; she starts out, singing lowly a traditional toast of Erebor's people,

"_I'm trapped in darkness_

_Still I reach out for the stars_"

And I continue,

"_I'm moving in silence,_

_I leave it all far behind._"

And then we drink.

* * *

><p><em>The Next Day<em>

Arwen brought me into the floor that was reserved for us (much like in the Tribute Centre) early in the morning, giving me a few hours to sleep in a proper bed—which was actually quite refreshing. By Capitol reckoning, I woke up promptly at ten in the morning, dressing in a loose shirt, green like the leaves of our forest back home, and matching pants. I walk around my room slowly to get the circulation and to make sure that I can still move properly; patting the spot where I was stabbed, I discover that the metal device is in fact still in there, and most likely will be for some time.

Finally I walk to the door and it slides open, and into the hallway I move. The hall is long and the lights in it are mostly off, but down the hallway in the living-room area it is bright and I can hear laughter and speaking coming from it. As I make my way there, the first person I see is Haymitch, who is surprisingly sober; he looks up at me from behind his blonde hair and grins at me.

"Well look who's finally here!" says Haymitch happily as I enter the room. He stands up and moves to help me, possibly noting my very slight limp, but I pass it off.

Arwen is sitting on the couch beside Effie, a confident smile on her face; Cinna is at the table speaking to the one person I want to see most of all: Katniss. Her back is turned to me but once she sees the grin on Cinna's face, she turns her head immediately and practically jumps out of her chair, running over to me and we embrace, kissing briefly.

"Good morning," I say breathlessly, a flood of happiness washing over me.

"What do you mean?" she says softly, "Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" she smiles at me.

"All of them at once, I suppose," I say with a grin, hugging her.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she whispers in my ear, burying her face in my hair, now having grown back to its natural length plus a little more.

A small smile flashes across my face but is gone quickly. "I could say the same—I hear you nearly ate Nightlock to get me out of there, yes?" I say softly, my voice turning more serious.

"You would've died…"

"While I am thankful for what you did, I must ask you never to do something as reckless as that again," my voice is harsher than I had intended for it to be. "You saved me, yes, but we both knew that I was fully prepared to give my life to protect you." My eyes narrow. "Please, I am asking you as someone who cares for you very much—please do not do something like that again," I say, softening slightly.

She looks me in the eyes for a moment, and then buries her head in my chest; I hold her close to me, content just to be there—with her. I run my hand through her hair gently and place a kiss on her forehead. Just below her breath, I hear her say very softly, "I cannot promise that…"

I knew she would say that.

* * *

><p><em>Yet another day later…<em>

The recap of the Games is one of the most painful things I have ever watched.

Once more I see the spear piercing Rue, the last of her breath fading away as Katniss and I sing to her. The flower-burial is mysteriously left out.

Again I relive the Bloodbath—me practically tearing the boy from Nine's head off and saving Holden from the boy from Four. I feel increasingly tense whenever Thresh, Holden or Rue flashes into sight; the feeling that I have failed them is ever-present.

Katniss finally discovers how I had acquired the information about the landmines—and how I repaid Gerry for it. She sees the brutality with which I handled him at first, and then the gentleness As Caesar's chair, she squeezes my hand softly. She holds no delusions—she knows that I am far from a saint.

A bit of relief floods me as I finally discover the causes of Holden's and Thresh's deaths—of course it is the Careers. However, with the relief and rest comes a more focused and concentrated hatred—a bloodlust not just for them but for those close to them.

The Careers caught up to Holden outside of the grove where Katniss, Rue and I had camped as we planned our assault on the Careers' stores a few days after the Games had started, before we had slain Marvel and Glimmer. The blonde girl of District 1 was cunning—that much I can say for her; she saw the limp in Holden's leg and, as she had her arrows, was able to take advantage of it. Holden was struck in the leg with an arrow and could not move—the rest is too gruesome.

Thresh and Cato's rivalry culminated in a final battle of epic proportions. Thresh had taken the body armour that was in the pack of District Two and seemed to be truly beating the living hell out of Cato for quite some time. However, the tides shifted when the storm came.

Darkness fell and that is the true habitat of all sons of Bjalfi.

He melted into the shadows and moved silently amongst the tall grasses of Thresh's domain. Thresh brought a torch out of the campfire and swung around in an attempt to catch Cato, but the Career was always a few steps ahead of him.

Cato's final blow was no strike of bravery, damn him. The death-blow dealt to Thresh was a coward's tactic, a sharp blow to the back of the neck with the hilt to make him stumble, and then Cato circled around and stabbed Thresh right through the throat, where the armour was weak.

In the exact spot where I would stab Cato just hours later.

* * *

><p>Almost seven hours later, Katniss and I find ourselves in front of a screaming audience of Capitol citizens, all filled to the brim with excitement; our own crew, Haymitch, Effie and the Stylists have been given their own balcony and are watching us with pride in our eyes.<p>

It is time for us to meet the President.

Cinna has dressed Katniss in an elegant golden gown inlaid with jewels that look polished and refined beyond normal human abilities, so much that they seem to gleam with the very fires that wrought them. I've only seen her in it briefly, but when she moves it does not appear that she has the roaring flames of our chariot ride surrounding her, rather the subtle flickers of candlelight dancing around her. Her hair has been placed in a bun and she has been given a necklace of matching jewels. She smiles enchantingly and there is no doubt in my mind; she is _breathtakingly_ beautiful.

As for myself, Arwen placed me in a charcoal-coloured suit with a light green dress shirt and dress shoes. A hammer has been emblazoned on the right pectoral area, crossed on the shaft with two swords and the image of a wolf in the background—a long-forgotten symbol of my people. Arwen had managed to get permission to actually have the sword I used in the arena brought in and strapped it to my back, claiming it is for the "aesthetics" and "the glory of the kill." I am told I look handsome, but it is of no matter to me. Awaiting the President, I stand beside Katniss with a stoic expression on my face.

Finally President Snow arrives, beard and all; it's a shame I was never able to ask about buying some pot from him—after all, here it would be too informal (and probably illegal). He gestures for Katniss and I to sit, and we do. Snow gives a speech that is incredibly similar to the one he gives every year for the Victor (or in this case Victors) and is also quite similar to the one he gave as the Tributes reached the end of the Chariot ride. He mentions the bravery of the tributes who fought, emphasising the ferocity of us all, and admiring the final battle between Cato and I, calling it "a fight between rivals, where the greatest shame was gained by dying looking into the eyes of the one they hated most," as well as complimenting the camaraderie shown between Holden, Thresh, Katniss, Rue and I, claiming that he had never seen "such a stunning display of solidarity in a desperate attempt for survival."

And from what I have been taught by my family in the ways of diplomacy and interaction in general, I can tell that by no means is he sincere.

He crowns us almost reluctantly, before stooping down to speak with Katniss—"What a lovely pin," he says.

"Thank you," says Katniss softly, "it is a token from my District."

He turns to me. "And you—the craftsmanship that went into that design on your lapel…" he scrutinises it intently. "Interesting."

I say nothing, but bow my head respectfully. He bids us to stand up, and we comply. "Citizens of Panem! I present to you the Victors of the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Hadrian Marlowe of District Twelve!"

He turns around to speak with us once more, and the message in his eyes could not be more clear: _this has only just begun_.

* * *

><p><strong>ANNNNDDDD that is where we're calling it today folks! This is the final chapter of the <strong>_**Hunger Games**_** part, and in the next chapter (I've decided that unless you guys say so I'm going to keep this all in one story) we will find Katniss and Thorin on their way home, as well as if things go as planned, the introduction of some eventually-important characters. We also get to see the relative extent of Arwen's knowledge, for she is a stylist and is incredibly observant of things, often knowing some incredibly classified secrets.**

**Anyways there's relatively little to say here considering there's very few references and it's only been two weeks since the last update so no real need to apologise (at least in my mind). The only real references that appear in this chapter are the chapter's title—"Out of the Frying-pan" which is both an allusion to a chapter in **_**The Hobbit**_** as well as a very popular saying, and then the other being the constant references of Thorin buying pot from President Snow, which is of course a joke about the portrayer of President Snow in the movies, Donald Sutherland, who played an incompetent, pot-smoking professor in **_**National Lampoon's Animal House**_**. Oh, also the little toast that Thorin and Arwen do with the water bottles is borrowed from the Blind Guardian song "The Thorn."**

**But yeah that's kind of it. Can't guarantee when the next chapter is going to be up because I'm uploading this either on Canada Day or the early morning of the 2****nd****, so my friends and I are heading out of town for a couple of days, and then starting from the 10****th**** I have a whole string of birthdays of friends and even myself (I can't believe how many people I know actually have birthdays in July). **

**Anyways, as always, thank you so much for reading everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	18. XVIII: Into the Fire

**Disclaimer: Don't own no-o-othing.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XVIII: …and Into the Fire<strong>

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

A few days after our return from the Capitol, the first visitors came to District 12. They were an odd sort of folk, not the kind that one would meet in the Capitol—much weirder. Their way of speaking and mannerisms reminded me of Thorin, except more intense.

Perhaps they were some of the other Mountain-folk Thorin mentioned?

Many of them shared similar features—most were on the shorter side and powerfully built, with long dark hair and grey or blue eyes, and most of the men had beards. Several had large animals walking beside them as companions, and the Peacekeepers seemed to take notice of them but would not do anything.

It is rather funny, however—the newcomers have actually put a stopper on a lot of the crime, ever since one of them drew a greatsword on a would-be thief and beheaded him right in the street. As I observed their comings and goings (most would enter from the forests where we would hunt) I discovered that many would head for the mine—or perhaps the mountain.

Three days after the last of the strangers appeared, I find myself here, outside the doors to Thorin's home in the mountain. As I approach the doors slide open for me, and I am met with open arms by Thorin's mother, who embraces me like a long-lost daughter with a bright smile. "Welcome, _mon_," she says, "I was wondering when you would come to visit."

"Apologies, _dii reg_," I reply, recalling the courtesies of their language that Thorin had taught me; his mother, due to his father being gone, is the Lady of the Mountain, or the _Reg do Strunmah_, and his father was the Lord, the _Drog_, and as thus she would refer to me as daughter, or _mon_. "I was helping my mother and sister settle in into our new home."

Thorin's mother pats my cheek gently, "_Mon_, your family is always welcome here should you but ask," she says. "Please, come in; my son will be overjoyed to see you—and so will the visitors." She smiles wryly. "Tis not every day we may be welcoming a new _Reg do Strunmah_,"she jokes

Without another word she leads me inside, taking me down a few corridors and when we finally stop it feels as if we've been walking forever.

A large chamber of stone, lit by torches and braziers wrought of steel, with benches of stone and tables of iron, with cushions on the benches and the smell of good, heavy food in the air. I find that my suspicions were right—this _is_ where thestrangers have been gathering, as the many visitors lounge in the commons area, conversing in gruff voices, comparing weapons and laughing over mugs of ale and legs of meat. In the very centre of the room is a wide circle of stone with a fire burning inside of it, the smoke floating up through a hole in the roof that must have led up through several layers of earth.

And beside that fire-pit is none other than Thorin himself, speaking to a slightly older, shorter man in his early twenties most likely, the latter holding a large battle axe whilst Thorin presents a shield. The two laugh for a moment and then embrace as I walk over. Thorin beams brightly when he spots me; "Katniss! It is good to see you," he says, pulling me into a hug as we share a brief kiss. "I was hoping you would visit soon—there are so many people whom I wish to introduce you too!"

"I'm happy to see you too, Thorin," I say with a smile.

The man whom Thorin was conversing with grins at the two of us and puts a large, callused hand on Thorin's shoulder. "So this is your mate, yes?" he asks in a voice that betrayed a slight accent, as if this were not his first language—though growing up in the Mountains, it may not have been. "I am Gaius of District Six—Hadrian's uncle, and Victor of the Sixty-third Hunger Games," he introduces with a light bow. "Pleasure to meet you, _liin do Thorin_."

I have the decency to blush—after all, he just called me "mate of Thorin!" "And you, _Drog_ Gaius."

Gaius laughs loudly and takes a swig of ale. "I'm no lord, lass," he says, putting an arm around Thorin's and my shoulders.

He takes us around the chamber and introduces us to some of the other visitors. There's fat Thoring son of Shagga, a "wildling" as he calls himself, who had been the first into the family's larders and came out with blocks of cheese stacked from his waist to his head; he's quite jovial, actually, and tells incredible stories. Tristyn Flowers, a sixteen-year-old, wise beyond his years, from District Seven is very formal and a little shy, and surprisingly seems to be one of the few who is sober.

There's also Vilkas and Farkas, a pair of twins that once hailed from District Nine but now run with Thoring in the wilds, are very kind to us, treating Thorin with utmost respect. They seem to be very solemn, and speak very reverently of his brother Leon.

Several more introductions later, Thorin and I finally break away from the group. "Is there something on your mind, Katniss?" he asks gently as we walk down a hallway.

"No… well, sort of," I say, "just a little curious. How can so many people pass by the Peacekeepers without rousing interests?"

Thorin smiles a little. "That is a question I have been asking as well," he admits. "Though most of them come directly to the mountain after entering and thus avoid too much interest, those that don't—like Gaius or Tristyn—usually disappear before too many questions can be asked. If they do not, then they likely work out some sort of deal with the Peacekeepers, or there are those Peacekeepers like Darius or Walder that just allow them to go."

"What did Tristyn do?" I ask, curious of what Thorin's shy cousin could possibly have done.

His smile quirks up a little more. "Don't you remember? We were right there—he beheaded the thief," he says, a fierce gleam in his eyes. "In the Mountain-realms, it was a terrible crime, theft was. Even though Tristyn's never seen any of the mountains with his own eyes… the boy follows the old ways."

"…You've never seen any of the mountains!" I say.

"…Yes, that is the point I was trying to make," he says with a small sigh. Then he perks up again. "Would it be so out of question to go visit Prim? I know you see her every day, but I've yet to see them since our return."

I can't help but smile a little. He's always had a soft spot for Prim, always smiling around her. "That sounds like fun. After all, Prim's a lot nicer and cuter than these bearded friends of yours."

"Nicer, debatable. Cuter, yes. Very much so."

* * *

><p>We arrive at the house in the Victor's Village that was assigned to my family and me very shortly. Only two of the houses—including my own—have ever been lived in; the one that was given to Thorin and his family has yet to even be touched. It's a nice sunny day out, so Prim is working in the garden with my mother.<p>

She's kneeling over a patch of flowers, doing a bit of weeding, when she sits up and wipes some sweat away; it's then that she sees us. I can tell from her initial reaction that she does not recognize Thorin for a moment—but as we draw nearer, and she is able to make note of both his clothing and the gleam in his eyes, she brightens up greatly. "Thorin!" she says happily, running over to meet us. She seems to be happier to see him than me! She throws her long blonde hair back over her shoulder and hugs him.

"Hello Prim," he says with a grin, picking her up and swinging her around. "Getting big, aren't you? Still a shorty though," he teases, poking her gently in the forehead.

"Says the one who has like, fifty billion cousins who are shorter than her," I interject.

"Just be glad Selvia didn't hear that," he quips.

Our playful banter continues for a few minutes, until Thorin retrieves something from his pocket and presses it into Prim's hands. She opens her hands and gasps a little; it's a beautiful necklace made of silver, inlaid with white and yellow gems in the pattern of a… "Primrose," she breathes. "Oh thank you Thorin!" she cries, leaping up and hugging him tightly.

Thorin just smiles.

It is at that moment that my mother cuts in; her face is grim. "Katniss, Thorin. You, ah… have a visitor." She frowns. "_He_ let himself in. Go on up."

Thorin and I take a glance at each other before walking into the house and immediately we're hit with the smell of roses. "It's him. Snow." Thorin says gruffly.

"But where is he…?" I reply softly, looking around. We're in the kitchen now, where I would have expected most visitors to be waiting; the large table has no one seated at it, no glasses or plates. The stove appears to be cold, probably hasn't been lit since lunch, and the counter is empty. We move through the living room, and no one is sitting on the couch or in the chair in front of the television, and same as the kitchen, there is nothing to signify anyone even being here aside from the scent of roses.

"You don't think he's upstairs?" Thorin asks, a fire burning in his eyes. In the mountains, it is considered an immense invasion of privacy to let one into someone else's room without permission; in some cases it is grounds for execution. "That bastard…"

"Thorin, this isn't the mountains and he's the president," I say with a sigh, "he can do whatever the fuck he wants."

He growls a little, but nods. Together we climb the staircase; surprisingly it's wide enough for us to walk side by side. Setting foot on the top step, we hear President Snow muttering to himself, "I always have found John Milton a little boring… a bit long winded, terrible jokes… still didn't excuse me when I was taking that course…"

Slowly I open the door to my room and Snow spins around in a large swivel chair that I honestly have no clue how it got there. He grins at us. "Ms. Everdeen, Mr. Marlowe. Welcome back."

"Good day, President Snow," I say with a polite bow. I elbow Thorin who stands there with a slight glare in his face.

"Huh—oh, right," he mutters, bowing curtly to Snow. "Yeah. What she said."

Snow frowns briefly, but nods. He motions over to my bed. "Please, sit down, you two." He says, and we comply. Thorin gently takes my hand, and Snow looks a little pleased. "Ah, yes—that's what I like to see."

"I'm sorry?" I say, confused.

"No, don't be sorry—just do that," he replies. "That's exactly what the audience wants to see: every actor playing their part." He motions to our hands.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," says Thorin with a slight, nearly undetectable edge in his voice.

Snow picks up a glass of water from my desk and takes a sip. "This is what the citizens of the Capitol want to see—you two playing your part of lovers." He clears his throat. "It made… quite an impression on us all, finding the two of you coming together, despite all odds, to overcome Cato Aurelius like that. I must admit, it was quite a tearjerker to find how the two of you mourned the death of little Rue…" he turns his blue eyes to Thorin. "And might I say, Mr. Marlowe, those songs you sang were very entertaining. You have a lovely voice."

"Thank you," says Thorin, looking down with a red tinge on his cheeks. It is a little amusing to me; Thorin is not used to such praise.

The President looks as if he wants to say something else, but he simply continues. "Now you see, the reason why I came here is this…" he motions to our hand-holding. "I wanted to make sure that the two of you knew that you now have to keep up the act of a couple, so madly in love that you convinced the Gamemakers to let the two of you out, because you could not live without each other." I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. "However, I see that I do not need to reinforce that, it seems. Of course, you could very possibly have put all this on as an act because you knew I was here, and in response I could have Peacekeepers tail you and keep an eye on you, however you could always just act that way in public. But the problem is not the problem—the problem is the solution to the problem."

"…" Thorin just stares blankly at him.

"…" Snow returns that same blank stare.

"…" I'm forced to join in the blank staring.

"…" He stares back at me with cold blue eyes.

"And what would you suppose is the solution to the problem?" asks Thorin finally.

"Well I could kill you," says Snow, "but that would reflect badly on the Capitol and the citizens would be enraged. But I suggest that you take acting lessons."

"And why is that?"

Snow frowns a little. "Not everyone believed that you two were in love, myself included. Therefore…" he leans in close and says softly, "When you are on tour, unless you want some unspeakable horror to befall you, you have to _make me believe_." And with that, he gets up and leaves.

Thorin and I look through the window at his retreating form as he steps into a car. Thorin turns away and starts laughing darkly. "Well, we're fucked."

* * *

><p><em>How it could have happened…<em>

"The problem is not the problem. The problem is the solution to the problem," says Snow.

The blank stares go around for several minutes before Thorin finally says, "Are you high?"

"Bitch I might be," Snow says, putting on a pair of sunglasses. "Snow out."

* * *

><p><strong>There ya go everyone! Not really too much to say here. We were able to find a bit of an alternative opening to Catching Fire, with many of Thorin's relatives and friends of the family gathering together to celebrate Thorin's victory. We get to meet Tristyn, who is about their age, and Gaius, who is a Victor from District Six—in this canon, we'll be saying that he killed Gloss in his Games (if you read on the wiki, though it is never stated in the books which Games Gloss was in, he is placed in the Sixty-third in the movies). These two will be playing a large part in the story. We got through Katniss and Thorin's visit with Snow, and you guys have <strong>_**no idea**_** how hard I had to try not to get all sarcastic Donald Sutherland-y with him.**

**Anyway we also got a bit of a joke ending there, detailing what could have happened if Thorin had continued his "can I buy some pot from you" joke. Nothing else to really say.**

**Anyways, as always, thank you so much for reading everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	19. XIX: Daughter of Thjalfi

**Disclaimer: Me still own nothing.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XIX: Daughter of Thjalfi<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

Several days after Snow visited us in Katniss's home, we found a hovercraft touching down outside of the mine, and who else should step out of it but Katniss's bumbling prep crew. They had no clue where they were going, but somehow managed to blunder their way up to my doorstep, looking confused as all hell when I emerged from the mountainside. "You live in a cave?" one, I believe his name is Flavius, had asked.

"Something like that," I had replied with a slight upward quirk of my lips. "I am supposing you do not know where Katniss lives?"

They had affirmed my suspicions and I had, out of the goodness of my heart, led them to Katniss's home where they alerted me that my crew would be on their way with Arwen quite soon. A slight smile had come to me when I realised that this would be the first time my aunt had set foot inside our mountain home in such a long time.

Of course when my mother found out, she was overcome with joy; the two had, as children, been close but when my parents married and Arwen left for the Capitol they had fallen out of contact. After I told her that Arwen would be coming my mother immediately commissioned my brothers Leon, Robin, Scipio and I to forge a shield for our aunt with the family crest and our words on it: "We are the mountains, and we remember."

Leonidas begun the forging of the frame at once, electing to heat the first layer of steel twice and then reinforce it with hardened leather and a final covering of wood.

Robin placed a second layer of steel atop it and hammered it flat, carving in the rough outlines of the wolves, swords and hammer of our crest.

Then it was Scipio who, being the true artist of us four, added the colours and detail into our crest. He coloured the wolves like the white wolves of legend, using small-cut emerald for their fierce green eyes. The swords had been carved long and their hilts were painted brown with varying lines of black and green; the blades were filled in with silver and a hint of sapphire here and there. Finally, the hammer stood tall, almost from the base of the shield to the very top; the shaft was brown and covered in cloth, and in the exact middle the swords met. The hammer head ran parallel to the top of the shield and was of a much darker iron, forged thrice for extra strength.

And as the youngest among us, it was my place to do the least amount of work: the words. I took my chisel and bit into the steel deep, carving "We are the mountains" on a slant at the bottom, with the "We" being right at the maw of the first wolf, and the "mountains" ending at the bottom of the hammer. On the right side I carved, "And we remember" slanting upward from where "mountains" ended, on the opposite end of the hammer's shaft. I filled the letters in with a bit of gold.

When the finished product was done, the four of us looked to each other and said as one, "It's a piece of shit."

Despite this all, however, we received glowing praise from Gaius, Mother, Farkas, Vilkas and many, many others. I suppose that when one creates something, one would tend to have a lower opinion of it than others.

And when Arwen arrived, you would not believe her delight at seeing it, praising it with words like "Ornate," and proclaiming it to be something that would be "unparalleled by anything in the Capitol." Each of us had the decency to blush.

Now here we are, two days since Arwen's arrival (without the crew, I might add) sitting together in the commons chamber. The huge fire pit in the centre of the room is burning bright as ever, and it is mostly empty save for us, Leo and Robin, those two being off to the other side drinking and laughing. She and I have a bit of spiced wine and a wild turkey that we feast on.

"It has been so long since I have walked these halls," she admits, gazing about. "These walls have changed so little though."

"They are made of stone," I say wryly, despite knowing that isn't what she meant. "Stone tends to stay the same for a long time."

"Very funny," she jokes, poking me on the forehead. "You know what I meant. The decorations, the tapestries. There have been few additions or removals…" she quirks her head to the side and looks at the cloth hanging on the wall beside us. "Except for this one."

"Well there have been few notable deeds to immortalise within recent years," I respond, running my hand across the fabric. The tapestry depicts Katniss's and my victory in the Games, with vibrant colours woven into the first scene, where the green of the forest is lush and verdant, whilst Katniss and I sing to Rue. The second scene is dark and splattered here and there with red, showing my slaying of Cato, sword through the neck and all. Lastly the final scene shows Katniss and I being crowned, with the crest of our family adorning the bottom as well as my lapel.

"This was certainly one," Arwen says. "Now there is something I must ask you. You know that Victors are expected to take on interesting careers after they are crowned, yes?" at my nod, she continues, "Then what is it you plan to do?"

I smile. "Isn't it obvious?" I ask, motioning to her shield. "I shall become a blacksmith. Perhaps forge things on request for citizens of the Capitol, and arm our armies at the same time without arousing suspicions," I add with a slightly joking tone. No matter how much I may wish that we had soldiers in sufficient amounts with which to overtake the Capitol, we simply do not have the numbers ready for any sort of march.

She laughs softly. "I do believe that will be interesting, I cannot recall ever seeing any who went on to _forge_ weapons."

"I would assume not, not everyone has the mental stability of a Mountain-warrior."

Arwen takes a sip of the wine. "But there is something serious I must speak to you about, Thorin," she says, her face turning stony. "Your mother says that Snow had visited you and Katniss; was she correct?" I nod in response, and she frowns. "Am I right in my guessing that he did not believe you and Katniss?" she laughs bitterly. "Old bastard believes that everyone is trying to deceive him… most of the time he is not exactly wrong, so for good reason."

Thinking back to the closing interviews in the Capitol, where Katniss and I were crowned, I suddenly remember something. "I think he may have recognised our crest. At the crowning," I say. "Do you think that may have something to do with this?"

"Perhaps," says Arwen with another sip of wine. "I cannot make any accusations; I believe that he was old enough to have been alive during the Rebellion, so he may very well have seen some of our bannermen marching on a Career District." She bites hungrily into a leg of turkey. "Either way… it is something to be careful about."

"Agreed," I say, ripping a leg from the turkey and taking a large gulp from my flagon. We tap our turkey legs together and say as one, "We are the Mountains and we remember."

* * *

><p>Another day passed. The time has come for our Victory Tour to begin.<p>

Katniss and I meet near the train station, where Haymitch, Effie, Katniss's crew, Cinna and Arwen wait for us. They've dressed us warmly because there's actually a good amount of snow on the ground, something that I find odd because it is only the first of the season. She and I look at each other; we know what we have to do.

We have to make them believe.

As soon as the film crew arrives and the cameras are rolling, Katniss practically tackles me to the ground and we lie in the snow for a while, kissing and holding each other. It's nice, I can't deny; something I've certainly wanted to do for a while.

But it feels forced. I know that Katniss reciprocates my feelings; there is no doubt to it. But she knows that this is to keep us and our loved ones alive and safe, and so do I.

Damn the Capitol, always messing things up.

After the filming, we all board the train and start moving toward District 11. I isolate myself in my room, dreading our appearance there and the speech we will have to make—though I suppose I'm not completely isolated, I swiped a bottle of whiskey from the dining car on my way to my room.

Right now, all I need do to is think. What can I say to Thresh and Rue's families? How can I assure them of how much their children meant to me? Do they hate me for letting their son and daughter die?

Sighing heavily and popping open the bottle of whiskey, I take my seat at the desk that has been provided in the room and begin to write.

Five hours later I do believe that I've written as best a speech as I can. The whiskey is nearly gone but has not gone to my head, remarkably; I suppose it's the natural ability of ours to hold our alcohol better than many others. Standing up and sighing heavily once more, I hear the door glide open ever so slightly.

"Come in, Katniss." I say.

"How did you know it was me?" she asks, stepping into the room.

"Anyone else would have knocked," I reply with a slight smile, "because they know I would have bit their arms off if they didn't."

"I'm your girlfriend, don't I deserve a bit of special treatment?"

"Certainly," I say, "that's why I'm only going to kiss you and not bite you."

"I think that's a better alternative," she says with a smile, leaning into the kiss. She pulls back and frowns. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yes."

"Okay, why have you been drinking?"

"Well, it was mostly to help me think a little," I say honestly. "I was trying to write my speech, and I just started wondering what Thresh and Rue's families thought of me, of how I couldn't save Rue or how Thresh did so much to help me before you even joined us. I was thinking that… they might hate me."

She puts a hand on my shoulder gently. "Thorin… there was nothing you could have done. Surely they realise that," she says softly. "It was just pure luck that Marvel's spear barely missed you, and if they saw just how tore up you and I were they'd know that we hadn't intended it to happen. Same with Thresh, there was no way we could have known that Cato would go after him _and _be able to take him out." She leans her head against my shoulder. "It's not your fault. It's not my fault. It's nobody's fault but Marvel and Cato's."

Taking a deep breath, I lean my head against hers. "Thank you," I say softly.

We turn our heads to look at each other, and our eyes meet. The same unspoken sequence of words that connected between us as I lay gasping for air after slaying Cato runs between us once more. Both of us understand without a problem; as long as we have known each other, we barely need to speak anymore. Our eyes communicate for us.

She leans forward and claims my lips with her own, tilting her head upward as I embrace her. Just under her breath I hear her gently whisper, "Mine."

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, in the Capitol…<em>

President Coriolanus Snow sat at his desk, intently poring over old maps from the days of the Rebellion. "Here are the crests from Moria and the Iron Hills…" he moves his index finger over the brittle old paper, yellowing with age. "And here..." he stops abruptly when he spots it: a crest with two wolves flanking a hammer crossed with two swords. "The Lonely Mountain—Erebor," he reads.

He laughs mirthlessly to himself. "Ah, Mr. Marlowe. Your stylist is either a true fool or an utter genius for putting that crest on your suit," he says. "It seems that my suspicions were right…

"_They still live._"

* * *

><p><strong>And there you have it folks! Not really too much to say here again. We got to see Arwen's return to the Mountain as well as a little bit of insight into Thorin's relationship with a few of his brothers. We also saw a little bit of Snow's curiosity; after reading the books and watching the movies, I always found that the President was most certainly not a fool, with a much higher intellect than he was given credit for; after all, if he is cunning enough to poison people and conceal it on himself as he does, he certainly is smart enough to recognise something like Thorin's crest as something special. There was also a good bit of ThorinKatniss romance there; so what do you guys think happened after Snow cut us off, eh? *wiggles eyebrows* Nah, it's probably nothing too serious, I mean they're barely seventeen, which is still a little young even for Panem-reckoning. **

**Anyways, it may be a little bit until I get the next chapter written and uploaded, as for one starting tomorrow and going for a whole week straight several friends of mine have birthdays with my own being the 29****th****, so I'm gonna be having a full plate. Next chapter we'll be starting the Victory Tour through the Districts and all that, now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go to sleep now because it's almost 11 in the morning and I've been up since about 4.**

**As always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	20. XX: Bannermen

**Disclaimer: I didn't get rights to any of this for my birthday, so I still don't own anything.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XX: Bannermen<strong>

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><p><em>No one's POV<em>

In the deepest halls of District 11's mostly underground Justice Building, Alrek Greystark gently polishes an old, somewhat rusted helmet under the light of a few dim torches. He hums gently; Greystark, or Tommen Crook as he is known to the Peacekeepers under his command, is a man of about thirty-five years.

He differs from most other Peacekeepers, because instead of the typical pure white uniform, he wears a black tunic with leather strips stretching from his back and crossing in the middle of his back and chest, with a pair of matching pants and boots and a long black cloak. His long black hair and beard, as well as his tan skin could easily make one claim that he is the night condensed into one man, factored in with the way that he seems to glide along quietly and appear when he is least expected; his eyes are of a bright grey and shine out amongst his ensemble, leading the folk of the District to call them "the stars."

"_The king beneath the mountains,_

_The king of carven stone,_

_The lord of silver fountains_

_Shall come into his own…_"

Greystark hums quietly to himself as he holds up the helm for inspection. The torchlight plays off the old iron helm, revealing a few still-tarnished spots. He rubs those out quickly.

Finally the old helmet looks presentable, and Greystark sets it on the bench beside him. Brick walls surround him, with a heavy oak door being the only entrance into his room; being about twenty or so feet underground, there are no windows in this room, and the torches that give off the only light rest gently in twisted iron sconces; the flooring is of flagstone, cold and unyielding, and the only real furniture in the room is a single cot hanging between two of the four wooden pillars supporting the ceiling, and a few shelves on which guns, swords and other weapons and armour pieces sit.

There is also the typical Capitol banner that is required to be posted in every Head Peacekeeper's quarters; the banner is the colour of stone and has the seal of the Capitol on it, and is otherwise unadorned.

And yet there is one thing, the meaning of which most citizens of Panem would not even know of: a long, sweeping banner; a wide silver circle rests on a field of purple, with a prancing stallion the colour of blood. It is a truly dangerous thing to have, this banner; only the incredibly brave or foolish would dare have one if they held the same position that Alrek Greystark holds.

It is the banner of one of the Mountain-lords, of House Eirikur. This House was descended from the third-eldest brother of Arnthorr, Eirikur—the Lord of the Iron Hills. This banner was one that the name Greystark had served for many, many generations, and one that Alrek was determined to continue to serve for many more generations.

And when the son of Arnthorr had won the Hunger Games, Alrek was _overjoyed_. For all his supposed loyalty toward the Capitol, Greystark was first and foremost one of the Mountain-folk.

But today the same Mountain-born victor would be visiting District 11, and Alrek would certainly have words with him, if he is able to find time.

There are whispers amongst the Mountain-folk, whispers of rebellion; the Wildlings have spoken of a Rebellion outside of Snow's grasp. The descendants believe that these rebels could help them reclaim their homelands and the lost treasures, and in return the Mountain-folk would help defeat the Capitol.

For now, though, all they can do is talk. Alrek knows this. They cannot spare the resources, nor the soldiers; and without whatever technologies it was that protected the Mountain-warriors against the Capitol during the first Rebellion, it would be a slaughter for sure.

But Alrek can only do what he can, and at this moment all he can do is try to convince the son of Arnthorr to see their perspective.

Alrek fastens his cloak and stands up. "Hadrian Marlowe, or Thorin, as you prefer to be known," says the Greystark in a booming voice, "as a scion of the Mountains, I do hope that you realise that the fate of us all is in your hands. The Capitol is not stupid; they keep records too." He walks briskly across the room and picks a sword from his shelf. "They will discover your crest sooner or later… perhaps they will discover mine."

Greystark smirks and walks out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.

* * *

><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

"Wakey, wakey~" muses a voice in my ear. Slowly I groan out and open my eyes, and I see Haymitch standing over me with a bemused smile on his face. For once, he actually looks sober. "Have an enjoyable night, kid?"

I look at him with a confused, tired expression and he just points down. Curled beside me is the sleeping form of Katniss, head resting gently on my chest. Her dark hair lays messed-up, and she breathes in and out gently.

"Anyways, it's time to get up. We're here in 11; I'll leave you to your girlfriend," Haymitch says, walking out of my room.

Looking back down at the sleeping form of Katniss, it almost pains me to wake her—_almost_. With a wicked grin, I stick my finger in my mouth and get it covered in saliva, then gently trace it across her face.

She jolts awake quickly, and glares at me. "I thought I told you to stop doing that," she says somewhat dangerously.

"And I thought I said maybe." I reply with a wry grin. "How else was I supposed to wake you up?"

"Well, you could be all sweet and bring me breakfast, maybe wake me with a kiss," she says. "Maybe even sing me awake, like a good boyfriend."

"I _could_, but this way is much more fun," I say, kissing her forehead. "I must be a bad boyfriend then."

She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me back down, kissing me softly. "Yes. But you're mine," she says, nestling her head in my neck. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Yes," I agree. "Yours."

"So what did Haymitch want?" she asks after a moment.

"We're in 11. Time to get up," I reply a little sadly; if we could stay like this, I would be a happy man.

"Eleven…" Katniss repeats softly. "Damn," she says, sitting up. "I'm starting to dread speaking to Rue's and Thresh's families…"

I nod in agreement; "I know. How can I tell them that I couldn't protect their daughter, and that their son risked his life to save ours? How can I possibly say that even though I considered Thresh an invaluable friend, I was willing to let him take the pack and run?"

"You weren't willing," Katniss responds, looking me in the eyes. There's that look. "Thresh knew that. I know that." She frowns. "Just let them know that you're thankful for him being there… that you are glad you had a friend so willing to throw his life away to keep you safe…" she trails off, and in her grey eyes I register that same look that she gave me as I lay on the arena floor, near-death. "Thank you for that," she whispers.

"I would do it again without hesitation," I reply, leaning my forehead against hers. "I swore I would protect you with my life, and being out of the arena changes nothing." Our eyes connect once more and we communicate wordlessly.

"I know," she says quietly.

* * *

><p>After getting properly dressed (we were already dressed, mind you—just not anything you would go out in public in), Katniss and I exit my room and cross through a few train cars before coming to the dining car; it is at this moment that I recognise this train as the exact one that brought us to the Capitol for our Games. The table, patterns on the walls, even the same spot of impact where I smashed the glass against the table—oh, how Effie shrieked at that!<p>

Seeing this is like a long-lost friend—one that brought you on a brush with death, but still a friend nonetheless.

Gathered around the long wooden table are Effie, Haymitch, Cinna and Arwen. Effie and Cinna speak quietly, whilst Haymitch and Arwen appear to have been having a drinking contest—big mistake; children of Arnthorr are notoriously good at holding their liquor. When the door slides shut behind us, Arwen looks up at us with a coy smirk on her face.

"Have a good time, nephew?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. She is dressed in a plain white dress, but the shield that we had gifted her rests on her back.

"I could ask you the same thing," I reply, nodding to Haymitch, whose head rests on the table next to a spilt glass of wine. "You know, it's rather unfair to use that advantage."

"Ah, but if we didn't use our advantages, how would we win?" she replies, mocking the Words of House Bjalfi—"We Seek Advantages."

"Through honour and pure skill," I say, grinning. "I see you display the shield quite proudly. Is that truly wise?"

"Tommen Crook is a friend," she says, "and the Head Peacekeeper." She grins at me.

"A Peacekeeper, our friend?" I say with a scoff.

She smirks and stands up, not even slightly tipsy; she practically glides over and whispers, "Perhaps I should tell you his actual name—Alrek _Greystark_."

"Greystark," I respond, the name leaving a strange taste in my mouth. She is right—House Greystark has long been a friend of all the Mountain-folk, except for House Bjalfi. They were the bannermen of House Eirikur—a lesser family sworn to serve a Noble House whenever called upon. Each House had several of these—though many disappeared after the Capitol destroyed us. I have yet to meet any of House Arnthorr's bannermen. "Are you sure that he will be… receptive of us?"

"Of course," she replies. "We are a different sort of folk than those in the Capitol—our oaths transcend generations."

* * *

><p>Finally we are out in front of the people of District 11. Far from the stage and populated areas, verdant fields lush with vegetation sprawl out for miles upon miles; orchards spring up here and there, their branches twisted and reaching to the heavens. Around us, warehouses and shacks sit around, as if they were thrown there.<p>

The crowd stretches for quite possibly a kilometre, a sea of dark faces. Peacekeepers in all white surround the people, as if keeping them fenced in. I know that there were riots here during the Games—the tension is thick in the air. Camera crews are strewn here and there, on raised platforms and on the ground; the stage is lit by huge lights, despite the sun still being in the sky. In the stead of a mayor, a Peacekeeper in black stands on the stage waiting for us.

He looks like the night itself made into one with his black ensemble; he wears a black leather tunic with cross-straps running over his chest, black pants, and a long black cloak and boots; a sheathed sword is at his side. His hair is long, much like mine, and black as well; he is also rather tanned, no doubt from much time out in the fields. His eyes are a bright grey, shimmering like stars; he looks at Katniss and I with a grin, but it betrays no emotions—but I can tell there is no malice coming from him.

We shake hands when we step forth to meet him. "I am Tommen Crook," he introduces in an official tone, but brushes his hair back over his shoulder and I catch the sight of an earring: a prancing red stallion on a silver circle.

The sign of House Eirikur.

I smile to him and introduce myself politely, raising my head to reveal my own necklace belonging to House Arnthorr. "Hadrian Marlowe," I say, bowing quickly before introducing Katniss. She curtsies.

"It is good to meet you, Mr. Marlowe, Ms. Everdeen," says Tommen—or what was it Arwen called him? Alrek, if I am not mistaken. "I am sorry the mayor could not meet you, however he was feeling a bit under the weather this morning, with a high fever, and then…" His hand drifts to the hilt of his sword. "He was taken so suddenly as well. I am glad he didn't suffer."

"Aye, it is a shame," I reply. Perhaps this Rebellion that the Wildlings spoke of is not only real, but thriving; it obviously has roots in the Mountain-folk, just judging from what Alrek has told me here. "That must be why everyone is so gloomy, yes?"

He nods. "I would be happy to speak more, however we must get on with this whole affair," he says, turning to the crowd. At the head of the audience, two banners stand; one with Rue's face on it, the other with Thresh's. A man and a woman, as well as five hungry-looking children stand beneath Rue's, whilst a hunchbacked old woman and a tall, athletic girl, probably about fourteen or fifteen, stand beneath Thresh's banner. The families.

Katniss and I step up to a microphone and clear our throats. Katniss starts; "People of District 11, I thank you all for welcoming us into your beautiful home," she says. A few scoffs rip through the crowd; they are not unkind-sounding, but certainly disagreeing. "My name is Katniss Everdeen and I am from District 12. I personally had the opportunity to meet with and befriend Thresh and Rue, and even in the short time that I knew them, they changed me significantly.

"Thresh taught me the value of strength and the honour of battle. He proved to be an invaluable ally, displaying intelligence comparable to my boyfriend's here, being actively involved in our final battle plans to defeat Cato and Clove. He ultimately ended up sacrificing his life by taking the backpack from the feast, luring Cato into the wheat fields. It was there, during a storm, that Cato slew him," she says.

A few people in the audience call out in anger, calling Cato a coward, craven, anything of that sort. Knots build up in my stomach, threatening sadness should they be released.

"But Thresh's sacrifice was not lost on us; Cato's body armour was weakened because of that fight, and without that, it is very possible that we may not have been able to defeat him. I am incredibly grateful to Thresh—if not for his companionship and ultimately bringing Hadrian and I together, then for our lives; I just wish he could have lived as well." She says sadly. She bows her head in respect.

It is now that I speak, swallowing my emotions as best I can. "And Rue—sweet little Rue. She was such a great friend and ally, clever and smart. She knew how to track, and held a certain strategic mind with her. I am…" I slowly feel the sting of tears clouding my eyes. "I am so sorry… so sorry that I couldn't save her," I say honestly, bowing my head. "I know that my grief can in no way compare to yours, but it has just haunted me every night—I swear… if I could have taken that spear for her, I would have without question. I'm sorry… so sorry…"

* * *

><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

Thorin's tears have spilled forth like floodwaters over a dam. I knew that this would be tough for him; I heard his anguished cries, I saw how deeply their deaths affected him. I knew this would be the outcome.

"I'm so sorry…" he says, dropping to one knee. I frown a little, taking Thorin's arm and helping him to his feet. I take the microphone for him.

"I am sorry," I say, "but this is a rather touchy subject. Forgive us, we'll be on our way…"

Thorin snatches the mic back. "Not quite…" he says, swallowing. "Forgive me. I realise that our grief is insignificant compared to yours; you all are truly stronger than I. And thus—I would like to divide my winnings, and donate them to the families of Rue and Thresh, as a bit of a memoriam and a thank-you." He composes himself and gives them a confident smile.

"And I shall divide mine as well!" I declare; though even a small portion of Thorin's winnings alone would sustain these families for years, I owe as much to them as Thorin does. I cannot simply refuse to pay them what they are due.

I hold back a mind-laugh; I can only imagine how Thorin is going to react when we get to the Career Districts.

"My name is Hadrian Marlowe," he says, grasping my hand. "And this is Katniss Everdeen. Your tributes have changed our lives forever, and as such, we are eternally in your debt."

Together, he and I say as one, "Thank you."

* * *

><p><em>Alrek Greystark's POV<em>

"Hey guys, you know they've drawn this year's Quell twist, right?" I ask; it has been nigh five hours since the Marlowe boy and his mate addressed my people; I'm very sure that by now, he has picked up on my "subtle" hints about the mayor's death.

Especially considering the fact that he is down here in the bowels of the District 11 Justice Building, in my own personal quarters, sitting on one of my benches and drinking my wine; he sits beside District 11's last Victor, a sixteen-year-old named Podrick Bracken, passing a wineskin back and forth. His tearful address to the people moved many hearts—possibly into the Rebellion's favour. However… I do think it is best to keep the idea concealed, at least for now; our warriors lack the strength and numbers, and the Rebellion does as well.

Podrick had won his Games three years ago, at age thirteen, by luring the Careers into a canyon and knocking a few boulders loose, causing them to roll in and smash the Careers. He is a tall boy, perhaps as tall as Thorin himself, with tan skin and shorter black hair. He has the grey eyes trademark of all Mountain-folk. His House, Bracken, also were bannermen of House Eirikur.

"Aye, I knew it," Pod says in a gruff voice, grinning slyly at us. He swipes the wineskin from Thorin and takes a long swig. "Either way, looks like you're going back in, Marlowe."

"Oh really?" asks Thorin, raising an eyebrow. "What is it? Are they sending Victors back in?"

"…Yes, that's exactly what it is," I say, polishing another sword. The prancing horse of House Eirikur is emblazoned on the cross-guard; at the tip of the hilt, a horse's head and mane stare out proudly. Ruby gems have been placed as its eyes.

Thorin examines the sword briefly and tilts his head. "That sword… it's of House Eirikur is it not?"

"Aye, it is; it's called Severance," Pod replies. "Lord Thorri Stackspear gave it to him on his deathbed. Said he trusted his bannerman with it better than he did his own son," he takes a quick pull on the wine and frowns. "Probably for the best. Damn sod turned into the mayor… of course, even if succession were still in effect, the sword's rightfully Alrek's now."

Thorin smiles at us. "I'm sorry friends; I must be going," he says sadly. "But I have to say, it is wonderful to be able to speak with other Mountain-folk. There are no bannermen in District 12."

I frown. "What about House Payne? Blackfyre? Grimm?" I ask; he shakes his head. "Not even House Tully?"

"Gone," Thorin says; "where they went, I don't know. Might have gone with the Wildlings. Might have left for good," he sighs. "Either way, I'm not sure I blame them." He stands up and bows to us. "Stand strong, stand tall." He says, repeating House Arnthorr's words.

Podrick and I stand and bow as well; "Ancient and loyal forever," I say, repeating the words of the Greystarks. Podrick replies, "Spirits guide us, spirits watch over us," which are the words of House Bracken.

The three of us share a grin. A warm feeling wells up in my chest; it is, as Thorin said, always good to find other Mountain-folk. We are a scattered people, and far too lonely.

Without speaking, the three of us have cemented a bond.

We would kill for each other, that much is certain.

Now we all know that, without hesitation, we would die for each other.

* * *

><p><strong>ANNNNDDD there you have it folks. Chapter Twenty, introducing some of the lesser Houses that are sworn to the noble families; I'm borrowing a few of these elements from Game of Thrones here, although in a way I had had these plans in mind before I had started readingwatching that. House mottoes were going to be implemented, as well as bannermen, however they were originally to be known simply as vassals, but I thought bannermen sounded better. We got a little bit of Thorin/Katniss romance, as well as seeing the extent of their love (I do believe love would be a proper word here) for Thresh and Rue, being willing to give up money so that their families can live better. **

**We got to meet some of the bannermen, sworn to the House of Eirikur; House Bracken, to whom Podrick belongs to; House Greystark, to whom Alrek, the Head Peacekeeper of District 11 obviously belongs to. We learned the names of Houses sworn to House Arnthorr, but are nowhere to be found: House Blackfyre, House Payne, House Grimm, and House Tully. We've also seen the extent and capability of the Rebellion, even in the early stages as is; they were able to kill the mayor of District 11 without arousing suspicions. Why did they kill him, you may ask? Simple—he was the son of Lord Thorri Stackspear of House Eirikur, and his only true heir, and he was admittedly a Capitol-pleaser. It's obvious that these people aren't screwing around; a change is coming—brace yourselves, because it might be winter!**

**Anyways, that's really all I have to say for now, although I want to apologise because this was actually meant to be out earlier, but for my birthday, my roommate Rob got me the first season of Vikings, and Chase got me Breaking Bad, so you can kinda see where this is going.**

**But as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	21. XXI: Narfi

**Disclaimer: As much as I wish I had rights to all this crap, I'm still just a university student.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXI: Narfi<strong>

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><p><em>No one's POV<em>

Lord Skalk Spryte of House Narfi hums gently as he sits in the gnarled chair made of twisted tree roots and branches; the old man, who calls himself Tyron Cerwyn in public, has been ill at ease for many days. Fifty winters have passed since his birth, and under the stress as both Lord of House Narfi and mayor of District 10, his once jet-black hair has now turned to an iron grey. He clutches an old staff made of a dark, rough-looking wood in his right hand to aid him in walking.

"Asgeirr!" he calls out loudly, taking a deep breath. "Asgeirr, come here please!"

"I am here, father," said Asgeirr; he is a tall man of roughly thirty years, with long black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard. A bronze chestplate glinted on his body, and a huge battle-axe is strapped to his back; on his chestplate, the coat-of-arms of House Narfi is displayed proudly: a green field with a leaping golden stag. This is Asgeirr Spryte, called the Gold-Stag, the Húscarl of Lord Skalk—and also his bastard son. Due to being acknowledged, he once held a claim for the Mountain home of his House, Mount Gundabad—however, after becoming the Húscarl for his father, he gave up his claim for a life of servitude. That was the best a bastard could hope for, as despite the love Lady Spryte and his half-brothers and half-sister showed him, there was no way the bannermen would accept him as Lord.

"My son," says Skalk softly, taking him by the arm. "I fear that my time in this world is short. Asgeirr Gold-Stag, it is my final request, not as your Lord but as your father that you look after Ulfric, and Jorunn, and Asgrimr, and Svan. You are my firstborn, and you have always been raised as if they were your brothers and sister," he adds, "and as the eldest, I bid you protect them."

"Always father," says Gold-Stag, "but surely you must be merely dreaming badly. You are barely fifty years, what could possibly happen to you?"

Skalk gives his bastard son a crooked grin. "My son, you have a mere thirty years on you; soon you will discover that fifty is enough to make many enemies for you," he says grimly, "and not necessarily the Capitol. You watched the Seventy-fourth; House Arnthorr still lives, and regrettably, as I had always feared, House Bjalfi lives as well." He coughs. "Not to mention House Kjarten; why we allowed them to survive is a mystery to me; their sons are everywhere."

Meanwhile, in a dark hall of the mayor's mansion (which was built into a hill), an assassin pushes himself up against the dark-wood wall. He has given no name on his current travels; he cloaks himself in a long black cape, which surrounds his tall form. The only bit of him uncovered is his luminous yellow eyes, which shine out brightly in the darkness.

Dust floats in the air, and the man sneezes loudly, thankful that this was a rarely visited part of the house. His mission depends on stealth… and it is one that will possibly toss a wrench into the plans of any "rebellion."

When he was done, he would most certainly be praised magnificently by Lord Aurelius…

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

Frowning, I slide the paintbrush across the canvas, doing my best to ignore the jerking of the train. In all honesty, I had no plans to take up painting, but Effie insisted, claiming that "blacksmithing was not a career worthy of a Victor."

And in all honesty, I about drove her headfirst through the heavy oaken table with just my foot; however, I bit my tongue (at the behest of my aunt) and begrudgingly agreed.

That was about two hours ago; now here I am, brush in hand and putting the finishing touches on a painting. No surge of pride swells within me; the painting's a piece of shit, a mish-mash of colours engaged in a sort of mosh-pit trying to join in some strange colour. As soon as I'm done, I rip the canvas from the easel and smash it over my knee. I scoff. "I'd like to see someone do that with steel."

"I'm sure that Torgrim Stonewind could," says Arwen's voice from behind me. I must have missed the door opening; she seems to glide to my side, a grin etched into her face. "Something troubling you, nephew?"

"You mean besides the fact that I allowed Effie to insult our family's art and did not kill her on the spot?" She nods. "Then no, nothing is wrong. I simply wish to tear her to pieces."

"I am sure you do," says Arwen, "though I am proud you did not. As much as I do not like her, I fear that she will be an invaluable ally in the dark times to come." She frowns.

"Aunt, are there any Mountain-folk in District 10?" I ask after a moment, curious to know if Holden may have known any of my very, very distant relatives.

"I believe so," she says, "House Narfi, if I am correct. Lord Skalk was the Victor of the Forty-second Games, and his son Ulfric the Victor of the Seventy-second."

"Yes, I remember Ulfric," I reply, "he was no older than I am now. Fine man; strong, too. And fair to his enemies," I add softly. I have to admit, I hadn't been particularly honourable in my killings; the boy from Nine I threw off of Katniss and killed before he could fight back; the boy from Four I stabbed from behind; Glimmer I kicked out the fire and slew her in the darkness; and Azora I caught unawares and practically disemboweled. Marvel and Cato were fair battles, and Gerry was a mercy killing—he would have died sooner or later.

"Aye, he's a good man. You'll be meeting them both," she says, "Lord Skalk is also the mayor of District Ten; however he goes by the name Tyron Cerwyn, and his son Tywin; his Húscarl, of whom I have no doubt will be there, calls himself Trentan," Arwen adds, smiling.

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><p>The Lord, heir and Húscarl of House Narfi are there awaiting us; Ulfric Spryte stands tall and strong, long dark hair streaming down his back, grey eyes piercing despite the good-natured smile on his face. Lord Skalk Spryte stands uneasily, knees shaking; iron grey hair flows like a steel river almost as far down as his son's; his gnarled old hands are wrapped around a tall staff which seems to be helping him stand.<p>

Then there is the bastard—Asgeirr Spryte, called the Gold-Stag. He's tall and powerfully built, making Ulfric seem like a smaller version of him rather than their Lord father. Though he does not wear the golden helm with antlers that earned him his title, I can practically see ethereal horns surrounding his head.

Gold-Stag smiles congenially as Katniss and I make our way up beside them, nodding his head in acknowledgment. Ulfric and I shake hands, bowing to one another, and I bow respectfully to Lord Skalk; I motion for Katniss to do the same.

Looking out into the crowd, I can see why Holden described this place as beautiful. Far away from us verdant fields roll over hills lush with trees and dotted with livestock. A few warehouses have been built near us, grey boxes amidst a green world.

And then I see the families; beneath a banner bearing Holden's face, his parents, a tall father with a strong back and arms stands calmly, his face a placid mask; Holden's mother is nigh as tall as his father and possibly stronger-looking. Next to them stand a brother, taller than both of them, with arms that look like they can crush boulders; he has a bushy black beard and an intense expression—there's no mistaking it, he's of the Mountains.

The girl who had passed, I know not her name, I can remember seeing her bloodied face amongst the corpses at the Cornucopia. If I remember correctly, Glimmer had gotten atop her and mauled her like a wild lioness. Beneath her banner are a mother and father but it seems as if there are no brothers or sisters to speak of.

Lord Skalk speaks to the crowd about the glories of the Capitol, but even in his old, weary voice it isn't very hard to detect a tone of sarcasm. I can see Ulfric rolling his grey eyes, and the Gold-Stag simply stands stoically behind his father and brother. Looking over to Katniss, she seems to be attempting to pay attention; I don't blame her, in all honesty I should be trying to listen as well.

Perhaps I'm a fool, but I do not fear Snow. He's an old man, and for all the soldiers he and his cravens in the Capitol may have I do not doubt that the Mountain-folk can crush them—as they would have had the Capitol not ambushed us under the cover of darkness!

But I hold my tongue; once Lord Skalk finishes speaking, Katniss and I make a speech that Effie had previously written for us. I would have spoken directly to Holden's family as I had Thresh's and Rue's, but it seemed at the time to be inappropriate as I had nothing to say for the dead girl, and also that I could likely speak with them through Ulfric or Lord Skalk.

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><p>An hour and a half later, Katniss has returned to the train whilst I went to visit House Narfi, finding myself drinking with Ulfric and his brothers Svan and Asgeirr, as well as some of their bannermen from House Pyne—Holden's House—one of them being Holden's brother, Mykal. We've all been drinking for some time now, and my mind is feeling a little fuzzy.<p>

The Gold-Stag donned his antlered helm and began a chorus line with Mykal and Svan, his much shorter half-brother having a hard time keeping up with their fast pace. Ulfric and I began chanting an old song in the language of the Mountains, clapping our hands along with the rhythm of their dance.

Then a scream pierces the air. Asgeirr leaps away from the chorus line, suddenly sober; Ulfric too sobered, as did I. The three of us tear off down the hall and toward the direction of the scream, where we find Ulfric's sister Jorunn standing over the corpse of… Lord Skalk. He lies on his back, a blood-red smile cut into his throat, and a blossom of blood flowering in his torso.

"Fuck," swears Ulfric, kneeling beside his father. He presses his head to the man's chest, hoping to find some sort of ragged breath or faint heartbeat, but he pulls away angrily. "Damn it all! What happened, sister?!" he stands up abruptly and walks over to Jorunn, who shakes her head.

"I do not know, brother, I… I walked in after hearing a thud, and found our Lord Father dead," Jorunn claims, her black hair dishevelled and blue eyes expressing fear and sadness.

"Lord Spryte, murdered in his own home," I mutter as I do what I can to assess the situation. The rusty stench of blood lingers in the air as the Gold-Stag gently places a shroud around his father's body and carries him off.

"Damn it all," Ulfric growls, kicking one of the many tall wooden pillars that hold up the room. He frowns, turning to me. "I am sorry you had to see this, my friend," he says. "Though it pains me to say so, perhaps it would be best if you leave us."

"Yes, very well," I agree, nodding. "Though if it is not too much trouble, could you send someone to guide me there? Perhaps Bearclaw or Greywing, if it pleases you?"

"Granted," says Ulfric gravely. He beckons forth one known as the Bearclaw; his name I do not know but I believe that he comes from House Pyne. He is tall and strongly-built, with long black hair; he is clad in a light grey tunic and black pants, though an ornately gilded sword hangs from his belt. He speaks naught, and guides me back to the train safely.

But as we walk, I cannot help but notice a slighter set of footsteps following behind us; I am sure they think we do not know they are there.

Turning my head abruptly, I catch a glimpse of a hooded figure trailing behind us. I cannot catch any details of their body, but one thing I notice is their eyes.

They glow a luminous yellow, like spotlights in the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there you have it. I'll admit this chapter was harder for me to write because I just wasn't feeling it; Uni started up again last week, which is when this was meant to be out, but I just couldn't get it going. Thus, I'm going to skip to the District 2 visit, where Thorin will face those of House Bjalfi, Cato's family. How will they receive him? Will they even look at him?<strong>

**Anyways there's not really a bunch that happened here. Introduced a few new characters, including Ulfric Spryte, now the Lord of House Narfi; he is certainly going to be an invaluable ally to Thorin in the days to come, as will his bastard half-brother, the Gold-Stag. We also met a major antagonist, though we don't know his name or anything else about him except for his yellow eyes. Yes, he was the one who murdered Lord Skalk.**

**That's really it for this one. I know this probably wasn't the greatest chapter, but this is really all I could scrape together for this specific subject; I promise the next one will be both better and longer!**

**But as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	22. XXII: Lord Aurelius

**Disclaimer: Yeah nothing's changed. Why do I need to keep doing this again?  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter XXII: Lord Aurelius<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

Travelling through Districts 9 through 3 had been easy enough; in District 9 I had met and drank with the lord of House Torgrim, by the name of Torgrim Stonewind, as well as his son Torgrim and his Húscarl also named Torgrim; a few of his bannermen were there as well, though their names escape me.

District 8 found us meeting the Fenns of House Ragnar: Bruni and Hrotti and Aevar. They seemed amiable enough, and their bannermen faithful, but there was just something… _off_ about Hrotti Fenn; his eyes seemed sincere, but they gleamed a bright, cautious yellow that I could not help but be unnerved by. From there we changed guards, with Alexander joining our little party; of course he could not help but tease us every time he entered my room and found Katniss and I asleep together.

In District 7 we met a few of the older victors, including Johanna Mason whose mother had been Lagertha Stackspear of House Eirikur. Her beauty had entranced my brother to be sure, and he spent many hours trying to win her favour; on her part, however, it seemed that she was toying with him. That night he had come back to the train in a rather sour mood. Tristyn Flowers, a bastard of House Ragnar, had joined us there as Alexander's squire.

District 6 reunited my brother and I with our uncle Brannyn, having to laugh at the irony of him taking up a similar role as Alrek Greystark. He took the title of Head Peacekeeper in order to keep the District in line and assure their eventual loyalty to House Arnthorr. However, from what I saw there was no real need for it; they seemed very accepting of House Arnthorr, for it is there that I met several members of House Grimm, a minor House sworn as bannermen to us. I remember that fat Thoring, a Wildling, is a member of this House.

District 5 and District 4 were basically blurs, neither of them being too excited to see us—especially District 4, whose tributes I had killed—but at the same time did not seem to be overall crazy for the Capitol. District 3, though I had slain Gerry, seemed to be courteous enough. The only Mountain-folk in these Districts were the Allyrions, the Shawneys and the Blackfyres; the Allyrions were long-time bannermen of House Narfi; the Shawneys of House Ragnar; and the Blackfyres are our own bannermen. The Allyrions and the Shawneys were courteous enough, and the Blackfyres seemed to be alright with us, but there was just something off about them; especially Vikar and Hallgrimr, the first- and second-in-line, respectively. Lord Thorgil and his sons Hlenni and Fjalar seemed amiable enough, but I would not trust Aesa, or "the Tempest" as she is known, as far as I could throw her. She seems the blindly loyal type; that is not necessarily a good thing. Thorgil's son Skald, the twin of Fjalar, accompanies us from there on.

But District 2 is a cold place, alien and hostile. It's bleak, bleaker than even District 12; when we arrive, no one awaits us. Arwen offers no advice, aside from advising me to be wary of House Bjalfi. Lord Aurelius, Cato's father, may seem nice, she had said, but he is cunning and cruel and likely is not happy about this sleight against his House. As I learned, Cato was tenth in line for heir, and therefore almost certainly not going to become lord, but House Bjalfi does not forget.

The train pulls into the station, a grey city packed in between huge grey mountains with grey quarries; the sound of hammers ring out into the sky like the screeches of eagles, and the rumble of machinery pierces the air. The sky is clouded and grey pierced by the peaks of the mountains fencing in the District; as much as this feels like it could be home, I cannot rest at ease.

There is something at work here. Something evil.

Yes; evil… and _old_. Older than the Capitol for sure. From the tops of buildings here and there I can see banners waving: crimson flags with golden lions frozen mid-leap.

The banner of House Bjalfi.

I remember that House Bjalfi—or their survivors, at least—had betrayed the other Houses to the Capitol; House Kjarten had as well, as shown by their cushy seat in District 1.

"This has bad idea written all over it," mutters Tristyn Flowers from my brother's side. He moves his hand toward his back, reaching for his greatsword, but he swears when he remembers it is not there. "I'll have to find all the fucking knives I can get… I am not going in unarmed."

* * *

><p>And go in unarmed he did not. From collar to boots he had hidden knives that he had filched from the dining car, sharpened with a little grinding against a rock. Inside his coat pocket he had concealed a jar of some sort of concoction that Thoring had given him when he last visited District 7. He would not explain what it did, only that it would be very useful should things go south.<p>

Of course they would not try anything, not with the Capitol's presence; but they would be gone after filming our speeches, and House Bjalfi would be ruling once more.

Katniss and I were escorted onto the stage by Alexander and Tristyn, both refusing to leave our sides. The mayor had arrived next, a rather casual air about him.

But I knew him almost right away.

He has the same fierce gleam in his blue eyes, the same cruel smirk. He is slighter of build, but much taller; he looks as if he could wield the legendary Worldcarver.

He is the father of Cato. He is Lord Aurelius, and he is also the mayor of District 2, much as Lord Skalk was mayor of District 10. When we shake hands, the unspoken message between us is this: "_Do not cross me,_" he says wordlessly, his eyes narrowing at me. I respond with a similar narrow and frown: "_I'll kill you where you stand. As I killed your son._"

And so Aurelius launches into his typical speech that every mayor is forced to give, proclaiming the goodness and generosity of the Capitol. He sounds truly genuine with them, if not a little free with his descriptions. I cannot tell if he is truly loyal to the Capitol, or loyal to himself—most likely the latter.

Katniss speaks first after the mayor. It is rather awkward, as I had known it would be. Every now and then I notice Lord Aurelius reaching into his pockets, and Alexander and Tristyn tense as well. When Katniss finishes, my brother and his squire are poised to murder the mayor right there. Katniss receives no applause; she had said nothing they would consider worthy.

Next I step forward. Lord Aurelius fixes me with that gaze of his, curious to see what I do.

Beneath Cato's banner are nine brothers and sisters, all with the same hair and eyes, and a mother; she is one of the only ones to exude any sort of kindness. I notice that his banner has been joined with Clove's; I can only assume that there was to be an arranged marriage between them. Her family bears the features of House Allyrion; auburn hair with a few black-heads, with sharp eyes and pale skin.

All eyes are on me now. Alexander's burn with warning, urging me to be cautious. Tristyn's bear a certain unreadable quality, but have a sense of urgency about them; his message is clear soon enough: _Be swift, but be careful_. Katniss studies me carefully, eyes betraying the love and affection I have come to know, but with a hidden hardness behind them; she knows how I feel about Cato.

I clear my throat. "People of District 2; I come to you now not as an enemy, but as a friend," I begin. I can hear mutters of dissent amongst the commoners. "If you will forgive me, I will be brief. First I shall speak on Clove Marcallas, of whom I had no personal interaction." I look directly to her relations. "As I said, I had no personal interaction with her; only what had occurred in battle. I believe that if we had met on different terms, things could have ended differently between us. Though I did not slay her, I must say that, for the sake of my beloved, I condone Thresh's actions. I am sorry," I think for a moment, and then add House Allyrion's motto in order to assure them I bear them no ill will: "Live free as an arrow."

Unless my eyes are deceiving me, I believe that I see a faint flicker of a smile on the faces of Clove's relations. Alexander's lips quirk upward slightly, and I see a slight look of disbelief and possibly a little discomfort on Lord Aurelius's face.

Turning to face Cato's family, I allow a frown to cross onto my face. Darkly I begin, "Aurelius. Your brother was a craven. That is all."

And that sets the crowd into a riot, though the Allyrions attempt to control them. A few Peacekeepers from our train move in and start firing into the air with warning shots. Alexander and Tristyn don't allow us to stay; they force us offstage and move us to the train.

"Good fucking job," says Alexander, shoving me against the wall. There is no playfulness in his voice. "You could have just said that you were sorry for his death—"

"I'm not!"

"You could have _said_ that. Sure, they would not have believed you, but you could have at least not called him a craven!" he growls. Tristyn keeps a watchful eye out of one of the windows.

An hour later he finally moves from that spot. "Two men approaching, bearing the standard of House Bjalfi. Skald… are there any approaching from your side?"

The Ghost's brother, who may as well be called "the Ghost" as we had not seen him nor heard him for hours, suddenly appears from a bathroom. "No… I'll deal with them, however."

And there he goes out to confront the people of House Bjalfi. He blocks the doorway, however, but keeps up an amiable air. "Welcome friends! What may I do for you?"

One of them muscles up to him, getting in his face. "Lord Aurelius would speak with Marlowe."

"See—that's the thing; Hadrian is not entertaining visitors at the moment," Skald replies. He groans audibly as a sword blade stabs through his back.

"I said, Lord Aurelius would speak with Marlowe." He tosses Skald aside, bleeding and groaning, and turns to face me. "And he would speak now."

I frown deeply. "Very well. I shall not make your lord wait long," I say. I look to Tristyn and Alexander. "Brother-keep an eye on Katniss, and see that Skald is treated. Tristyn, with me." My brother and his squire nod dutifully, Alexander heading over to check on Skald whilst Tristyn comes to my side. "Might I know your name, good ser?"

"Clegane," says the man gruffly. He dons a helm adorned with golden ram's horns. "Alvor Clegane."

Mentally I grimace; Alvor Clegane is known widely amongst our folk as "the Ram," a ferocious warrior who had won the forty-sixth Hunger Games, making many of his kills by bashing several of his enemies with his head, much like a Ram, and then gutting them with a massive sword. I know that the Capitol has demanded that we be kept safe; that doesn't mean he can't have his goat rough me up a little. If Lord Aurelius is any bit as craven as his son, I certainly won't rule it out. Thinking for a moment, I call out, "Aunt! To me, please."

Arwen complies and comes to my side. "Yes, nephew? Oh my," she says, noticing the heavily-armoured Clegane. "Hadrian, I thought I told you to ask before inviting your little friends," she teases. The Ram's nostrils flare, but he says nothing. "What is it you want, Ram?"

"Lord Aurelius would speak with Marlowe," he says in a bored tone, but it is filled with a rising tone of anger. He is not amused.

Arwen looks over to where Skald lies bleeding, being tended to by my brother. "I see. A simple 'Please come with me' could not have sufficed?" she frowns. "Very well. Hadrian, Tristyn. Let us go," she says finally.

Reluctantly I do as commanded. As Clegane and his companion lead us toward the seat of House Bjalfi, Tristyn passes me several knives. He reveals that he still has his jar of green slime that Thoring had given him; this could be useful, should things go south.

I do not trust House Bjalfi.

If Lord Aurelius had wanted to speak to me bad enough, he should have come to me himself. He is craven, and he will not claim me as a victim.

* * *

><p><strong>Dun-dun-duuuuuuun! Told you shit was gonna go down with House Bjalfi! Anyway, a couple quick notes: for one, the language is going to be getting noticeably fouler. Another, I'm going to be gone for about a week so don't get too excited about any early updates. I'll probably write a chapter or two while I'm out, though.<strong>

**Anyways we got a bit of a summary of what happened from Districts 9 to 3, including introducing a few members of what is to become sort of like my own version of The Brotherhood Without Banners from Game of Thrones. Thorin and Katniss spoke to the people of District 2, and has gained the attention of Lord Aurelius! In other words: shit is about to get real. **

**This chapter was sort of a transition chapter into the **_**real**_** next part of the story, starting to gain more focus into the backgrounds of the Mountain-folk and their alliances. That's pretty much all I have to say here. **

**But as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	23. XXIII: The Old Lion

**Disclaimer: *sigh* Damn it, I don't own Hunger Games, LotR, any of this stuff.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXIII: The Old Lion<strong>

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><p><em>Tristyn's POV<em>

Inside the halls of House Bjalfi's stronghold it is very hot, though from the people around us I feel only coldness. The walls are made of stone, obviously from being carved into a mountain, though they are pale and look almost sunbaked in colour; dim torches hang in well-polished sconces; sturdy, yet ornately carved chests, bookshelves and doors line the walls of the hallway. Here and there the gleaming steel of a beautifully-carved weapon or armour piece is mounted with utmost respect.

If it weren't for the uncomfortable heat and very obvious hostility aimed at Thorin and I, this place may be very comfortable.

The Ram leads Thorin and me down the very straight hallway, past countless numbers of doors until finally we round a curve. No longer is our destination unclear; a few metres ahead the hallway widens out like the neck of a bottle.

And finally we're there.

Tall ceilings reaching up into the mountain itself, with chandeliers wrought of iron and inlaid with colourful gems; rich, velvety rugs cover the already hot floors. Steam rises up from a few pools of water here and there; perhaps people bathe in them, though at this moment they are empty. Doorways open up all around the room, heading in every direction; the smell of fresh bread fills the air, probably from the kitchens. And then…

On a raised platform of intricately carved stone, every face of the platform bearing the image of House Bjalfi's pouncing lion, the throne of Lord Lucius Aurelius rests. It's a wicked-looking chair made solely of iron and prickled with thorns of sword-blades; just glancing at it as I do is enough to make me feel the pain that would come with one of its rusty blades. And lounging in the chair is none other than Lord Aurelius himself, his silvery blond hair cascading over his shoulders as he sits in his regal outfit.

Deep purple fused with lines of emerald green fights for dominance against equal amounts of blood red and gold on his robe, coming to a fiery accent at the bottom of his clothing. Across his lap lays one long, naked sword with a polished, glossy black blade. One hand rests on its smooth grey hilt, the other on of the chair's arms. In essence, he looks as one would expect a _king_ to look, rather than a lord.

And perhaps that is what he seeks: kingship. Kingship, which rightfully belongs to House Arnthorr, which has seven heirs before it can even pass to their bannermen.

"Hadrian Marlowe. How good to see you," drawls Lord Aurelius, sitting up and composing himself. "Ram! Be off!" he barks, and with a low bow Alvor Clegane withdraws. I hear the footsteps of his heavy iron boots fading as he walks down the hallway. "And you…" Lord Aurelius's cold eyes narrow at me. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

With all the civility I can muster, I kneel before him. "I am Tristyn Flowers of District 7, my lord," I say, having to bite back the malice I have for him. I lower my head and do not allow him to see my eyes, for fear that he picks up on my dislike of him.

"Very well—arise, Tristyn Flowers. I had heard of you, yes; Hakon Morrigen's bastard, am I correct?"

I give him a stiff nod as I stand up. "Yes, my lord." I say woodenly.

That is when Thorin steps forward. "Lord Aurelius; I mean no offence, but your man, the Ram, assaulted and may have mortally wounded one of my companions," he begins.

"I assure you, Hadrian, I had not given him permission to do so," says Aurelius; I do not believe him. "I will see that he is punished, and should your man die, I shall see that you are given due compensation."

"Thank you my lord," says Thorin courteously. "Now, I do not mean to be so blunt, but I am curious as to what was so important that you send Alvor Clegane of all people to collect me."

Aurelius smiles mirthlessly. There's a certain iciness in his gaze. "Very well, Hadrian…"

"Lord Marlowe, if it is of no trouble; I would treat your children with the same respect, I only ask that you do the same," proposes Thorin.

The lord of House Bjalfi chuckles darkly. "Very well, Lord Marlowe; if I may begin?" he stands up from his seat, robe shifting about him, and starts a slow march down toward us. "First I would like to say that I understand why you said what you said today. Cato's actions during the Games were truly abhorrent, certainly not how I had taught him. I apologise for the dishonourable manner in which he fought," says Lord Aurelius.

Thorin nods courteously. "Thank you, Lord Aurelius. The apology is vastly appreciated," he says in the most gracious tone he can manage. I can tell by the gleam in his cold eyes that he is not buying this lord's bull.

"Hmm! It is the least I can offer for my son's actions," says Aurelius. "Now, as to why I have brought you here… I would like to propose an alliance between our Houses. Since the fall of Vvardenfell that caused the deaths of our forefathers, there has been bad blood between us all; animosity that has set us at each other's throats for centuries. I wish for us to put a stop to this once and for all, so that we move into a new era of peace."

Thorin cracks a smile. "I would like that, my lord. After all, we are all related to the original seven brothers," he says kindly. The steel in his eyes is still there; neither of us trusts him. "It would do Arnthorr and Bjalfi proud to see their children getting along. What are your terms?"

Aurelius harrumphs with interest. "You know how to negotiate, good; it seems that the Lonely Ones still teach diplomacy," he muses, with a good-natured tone. Thorin and I laugh politely. "In truth, I have only one term that I must have as it is; the rest are up for discussion.

"And that is… House Arnthorr, House Blackfyre, House Tully, House Grimm and House Payne all swear a non-aggression pact; none of us will fight against each other, and should one of us be caught in a conflict, even against the Capitol, the others will help at once, without question." There's something in his tone; I can't tell what it is, but it does not sound good. "Does this sound acceptable?"

Thorin steeples his fingers and looks at the floor, his cold eyes blazing with interest. "Hmm; may I have a moment?"

"Of course," says Lucius.

House Arnthorr's sixth heir paces about the room, stooping and washing his hands in one of the pools. He is thinking deeply about this, I can tell. There is a grim swiftness in his step; he is a bright one, I know that. He is always brutally honest, but he knows what he is doing.

"Lord Aurelius, you mentioned going against the Capitol. Forgive my questioning, but… are you plotting against them?" he asks finally, stopping and looking the lord square in the eye.

There is no dishonesty in the lord's tone. "No, my boy. But I have heard the talks of rebellion so rampant amongst the other Houses…" he looks amused when he notices the shock on Thorin's face. "Come now, Lord Marlowe. Surely you didn't think that I had no plants of my own? My men are everywhere."

_My men are everywhere._ The words shake me to the core; he is a dangerous man, that much is obvious. Not only is his House seated in a wealthy District with soldiers trained as a career (hence the term Career District) but he at least claims to have ears that report to him with interesting bits of information. The worst part still?

He has not made any claim toward disloyalty to the Capitol. Who is to say he will not betray us to them? It is certainly something worthy of House Bjalfi…

And it seems that Thorin catches this as well. He pauses for a moment, then replies, "I am sorry my lord. With such terms as that I will need to converse with my mother and brothers before I make such a decision; after all I am only sixth-born. With your leave, I shall send a raven with word as soon as I get it."

Lord Aurelius has something in his eyes. Contempt? Perhaps; but he does not seem happy about this. He waves it off after a moment. "If you must. I understand that you are not first-born and thus must get approval; this is a monumental undertaking that would set us both in history as revolutionaries, setting two bitter enemies at peace for the first time in centuries. I implore you to remember this as you are speaking with your family." He smiles mirthlessly. "Very well. I thank you for your time, and once more apologise—both for my son's disgraceful actions and for my bannerman's certainly dishonourable way of handling this."

Thorin motions to me and we bow lowly, before withdrawing and leaving the compound. When he looks over to me after a few minutes, I finally say, "That certainly went better than expected."

"Aye, that I can agree to," he says, cracking a grim smile.

"I don't trust that man."

"Nor do I," says Thorin softly, "but be quiet about it. He at least claims to have men everywhere; we should not test him." He looks behind us. "He too is a cautious man, at least, but not very subtle. Have you noticed? He sent one out after us—Quintus the Bearclaw if I am not mistaken."

Looking back subtly I see an imposing man in equally imposing armour, with spikes—possibly claws, if he is the Bearclaw as Thorin claims—protruding from his metal gloves. They gleam in the moonlight, sharp and predatory.

"Don't look back long. Go." Thorin urges, quickening his pace. I speed up as well, matching his quick strides. As we get further from the compound I hear less and less of the Bearclaw and his clinking armour; perhaps he has left us alone after making sure we will not return. "Come. My aunt has prepared for our arrival, I am sure."

"Oh? Is that the reason you want to get back so quickly?" I ask, the tension easing. "I have a hard time believing that. Are you sure it isn't a certain girl on fire?"

"Shut it," says Thorin, elbowing me in the ribs. There's a good-natured look in his eyes, though he does not smile. This is bugging him, I know; if he had not bade Arwen return to the train, perhaps some of his burden would have been eased.

It is times like these that I wish I had my greatsword; I could have butchered House Bjalfi in mere seconds… or not, but it was the thought that mattered.

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><p><em>Thorin's POV<em>

After returning to the train, Tristyn parted and went to his room. The things he heard tonight must have affected him greatly. My aunt met me in the dining car, reclining casually in a chair; I explained to her what I had heard from Lord Aurelius.

"It is good that you did not accept or decline," she says, nodding sagely. "Lucius Aurelius is not one to trifle with. You were wise to tread lightly." She frowns a little, wrinkling her nose in thought. "This is not a simple request. You said yourself that he made no claims of disloyalty to the Capitol; I know for certain that he would not betray them without significant cause. He has not gained that wealth by being opposed to them.

"Though it seems to be a good option to ally with them, we cannot rule out any ulterior motives from their side. Perhaps they seek to label us traitors from the whispers he has claimed to hear; or perhaps he seeks to undermine us from the inside with these plants of his. And whilst our families have been at odds for years, yes, a few more will not make much difference if our safety is in the balance. I am proud of you, nephew," she finishes, placing a caring hand on my shoulder. "Your father would be proud as well." And with that she takes her leave.

Sitting alone at the table, tears begin to well up in my eyes. My father, the man who taught me the very capacity of a hero's love…

"_Remember this and remember well, Hadrian, my dear son… no greater love can a man have than to lay down his life for those he calls friends._"

Even today these words ring true. Every one of these people with me, every one of them whom I have drank with, fought alongside, I would die for them.

But as I feel her gentle arms wrap around me, her head lean against my shoulder, I realise that there is something even greater than that love; something the same, yet completely different. I look into Katniss's grey eyes, so much like my own, and decide firmly that not only do I need her in order to finish this long, harrowing quest ahead, but I will not do it without her. Leaning my head against hers to kiss her gently, I whisper the words softly, first in the tongue of the Mountains, then in her native language.

"_Zu'u lokaal hi_," I say gently. "I love you."

"_Zu'u lokaal hi ahk_," she replies with a smile, satisfied at my surprise at her newfound knowledge. "I love you too."

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><p><strong>Aaaaannnnnnd there we go! Things picking up with Lord Aurelius's plans; he claims that he wants peace between the Houses, but states that he himself will not charge against the Capitol without the others backing him. What would you guys do in that situation? Anyways, we've seen some of Thorin's own diplomatic abilities, all through the eyes of a new POV character; we've gotten a bit of knowledge at House Bjalfi's full pool of wealth, with their magnificent, large compound and having the whole District basically in their hands. We also got a little bit of ThorinKatniss loving going on right there at the end, teehee.**

**Anyways next chapter they'll be meeting with House Kjarten of District 1, admittedly the biggest brownnosers of the Mountain-folk. I wonder what Thorin will have to say about Marvel and Glimmer? I mean, I know what he'll say, but you don't. I don't think you guys will be able to figure out what he'll say about Glimmer but I'm pretty sure we all know where it's gonna go with Marvel—most likely more heated than Cato.**

**But that's where I'm gonna cut it for this chapter—which I might add is significantly longer than the last one. **

**As always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again have a good time!**

**~Jordan**


	24. XXIV: Brothers

**Disclaimer: Soy Jordan. I'm not even Robert Jordan, so I don't own anything.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXIV: Brothers<strong>

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><p>Thoring Grimm swings his massive warhammer and smashes into the armoured chest of his foe, crashing him to the ground. The enemy falls to the ground, dead, and his helm rolls off his head, revealing oily black hair, neatly coiffured around a thin, wild face; his eyes are a dull amber, lifeless and surrounded with blood. This is Kalman Selmy, the heir of House Selmy, once sworn bannermen to House Eirikur who fought for House Bjalfi in the first war and then assassinated Thorri Stackspear, the Lord of House Eirikur and thus gave control to his son Griss—an unrepentant Capitol lover until his own assassination by Alrek Greystark.<p>

These rebels had claimed Starkport Hold, so named by the Wildlings who had been scouring the lands outside of Panem for ages, as their own and had taken up residence there, fortifying it and stockpiling what weapons they could, for they knew that the Wildlings would be coming.

Eight broad, round towers stood tall over all, linked with bridges and connected by walls of dark stone. Refined windows are scattered here and there, and a sizable gate with huge wooden doors, a regular bridge and a moat are the only things guarding the only way in and out of the keep. It's nestled high up in the mountains a few kilometres outside of District 11, the tall towers seemingly reaching up to scrape the sky. The castle seems to be surprisingly well-kept for the decades it had been abandoned.

And Thoring knows why. Back in the days when he served House Arnthorr alone, he had been one of their foremost historians, carrying tales and legends dating back to the Destruction. He remembers the tales of old, of the mighty hammer Worldcarver, and his brother-sword Worldtearer. These weapons were forged at the turn of the era by Arnthorr's youngest son Tyrfingr in the very flames of Vvardenfell, where his father had died. It was claimed that some of the power of his father and Bjalfi had seeped into the sword and hammer duo, and that is what gave them such amazing abilities.

Starkport Hold is where Worldtearer was hidden, so the legends speak, tucked away in the deepest reaches so that those of the Capitol would never find it—and they never did. '_It was those bastards of House Kjarten…_' Thoring grumbles in his mind, huffing and puffing as he trudges up toward the keep that has been emptied of soldiers. His own Wildlings have been carting out bodies of House Selmy. The battle had only taken less than two hours yet the steadily growing corpse pile was already beset by crows; how fitting—the banner that House Selmy had taken so long ago was a white crow on a black field, pecking at a gold man.

"I suppose that even the birds' friends themselves become food in the end," says a calm voice from Thoring's side.

"Not surprising—the House was treacherous, why shouldn't the birds be?" replies a voice full of amusement on Thoring's other side. Moving his meaty head to look, Thoring finds two mirror images.

Both are tall, only slightly shorter than Thoring, and strongly built, with tan skin and long black hair. They wear iron armour made of plates bound together by leather strips, and the only real difference between the two is their weapon of choice: a greatsword for one and a warhammer for the other. They are Farkas and Vilkas Payne, the twin heirs of House Payne in District 9. Or at least they were heirs, until they followed Thoring out into the wilds and became his most trusted advisors.

Now Farkas sports a nasty-looking cut on his shoulder, though he seems not to care much. Farkas, on the other hand, looks mostly uninjured, though he walks with a slight limp.

"To think… the keep that once held the great Worldcarver could be seized, besieged, then seized once more in less than a day," says Thoring with a smile of satisfaction. "I know you were once friends with Kalman and his brothers Kollsveinn and Styrbiorn, but you have done well today lads. Remarkably so."

Farkas snorts and looks up, then spits on the ground. "Damn Kalman Selmy, and his brothers too. Any who would swing a sword with intent to kill at me or my brother are good as dead."

"Aye—those who would bring harm to me or my brother will pay the price," agrees Vilkas, ever amused, "and the price is death. Kollsveinn saw that firsthand."

"As did Styrbiorn."

"And you saw to Kalman," says Vilkas.

Thoring shrugs, rubbing his large belly. "They were guilty of high treason—we simply repaid them in kind."

Vilkas slowly begins walking toward the keep, his eyes transfixed on the centremost tower. He mumbles something incoherent, and Thoring looks to Farkas for a comment.

"Vilkas?" says Farkas, confused. He begins walking after his brother, and Thoring does his best to keep up with the younger brother's brisk pace.

"Remarkably… well preserved…" says Vilkas softly. "The hammer… where is the hammer…?"

"Hammer? Vilkas, Lord Thrandr's Wisdom is on your back, where it always is," says Farkas.

"Worldcarver, Worldtearer… the brothers… separated…" Vilkas continues, removing his warhammer from the sling and smashing away at some of the rocks that block off the tower's entrance. With every swing the tower trembled, shuddering like a tree in a storm.

Thoring himself was rather scared—he had never seen such strength, let alone from Vilkas. True, Vilkas's warhammer required him to be especially strong, but not so strong as to crush such large stones—which is exactly what he is doing. The rocks shatter as if they were made of flimsy sticks, broken apart by the sheer force of Vilkas's blows.

And then finally, finally Vilkas breaks through the last bit of rock. A few men from House Selmy are still inside, cowards who had sealed the door and hid rather than fought and died alongside their rebel lord. Despite their begging and pleading, Vilkas's hammer silences them all. Thoring grimaces at his protégé's brutality; of the twins, Vilkas had always been the most soft-hearted.

But as it seems, that Vilkas is gone. He is hardly himself; Thoring doubts he even has his own free will.

And then Vilkas vanishes from sight, directly into a wall.

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><p><em>Vilkas's POV<em>

I'm walking, always walking. My legs feel like mush, but I cannot stop walking. I lack even basic control of my body, unable to so much as blink when I choose.

There's something compelling me onward, something beckoning me. I can hear it in the back of my mind, telling me to walk, yet I cannot respond.

Admittedly, I am very curious. I had been hearing this little noise in the back of my head since the beginning of the battle, when I first caught sight of the great tower. The words pounded into my thoughts as if with a battering ram, their intensity ranging from a mewling kitten to a roaring waterfall.

And then it stopped. All at once, the voices ceased, right when I carried Kollsveinn Selmy's dead body down to the corpse pile and tossed it on there whilst Eyjolf Smyte built up the funeral-fire around them. After that I sought out my brother, and that is where we once more met Thoring—an then whatever _this_ is took over.

My boots against wet gravel is the only sound, and the darkness my only sight. Every now and then I would hear the drip of water on the ground; sometimes a stray shaft of light would show through a crack. The air smelled damp and musty and old—and there was an evil scent to it. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck with every step, and it felt as if someone were following me.

I wanted to look back, confront whatever was behind me. I wanted to yell for Farkas, for Thoring, even Frederick, the fifth-born heir of House Arnthorr, Thorin's older brother.

But I have no control. Whatever is leading me down here prevents me from doing so. I'm consumed with terror, fearing the unknown—one of the few things Mountain-folk fear.

And then… I enter the light. The open sky is bright blue above me, painted with splotches of clouds here and there. The rim of the sun is barely visible over the stone precipice, a jagged ring of broken bricks grinning like teeth. The tower I'm in—it's almost a complete opposite of the towers of Starkport. Instead of moss damming up the stones, they look freshly mortared, as if they were newly built. The smell and sounds of nature are all around me.

"_Worldcarver…_ I've finally found it," hisses a low voice. "Lord Ottarr will be most pleased…"

I'm compelled further onward, out into the courtyard. I'm able to open my mouth to gasp—this _is_ Starkport, as it was decades ago before the rebellion… when the Houses still fought.

Corpses lay sprawled all around the courtyard, the grass stained red with blood. Splintered shields, broken swords and crossbow bolts are tossed about haphazardly like toys tossed by a bored child. Bloody banners bear the wolves of House Arnthorr, the three swooping doves of my own House Payne, and the giant serpent of House Kjarten. The only one still waving is the serpent.

And the only warrior left standing is its bearer, a hunchbacked old man with strong-looking arms, coated in mail. He clutches the long shaft of a great hammer that looks like it should be far too big for him, but he seems to hold it with relative ease. The hammer's shaft is winded with silvery vines leading up to a large head, with wicked-looking spikes protruding from the rim of the hammer, and a pickaxe-like spike on the back of it.

Worldcarver, the hammer forged by Arnthorr's own son Tyrfingr; I know it well, but only by description, given by Thoring.

It's then that I notice who the man is standing over—a spitting image of Farkas and I.

"You put up a good fight, Asgrim Payne, but it seems I won out in the end, didn't I?" the old man mocks.

Asgrim Payne. My great grandfather.

Then I hear the words again, the soft voice as swift and quiet as the wind, "Find Worldcarver. Retrieve your birthright, Vilkas Payne."

A sharp pain strikes into the back of my head, and I'm suddenly back to reality. Thoring and Farkas kneel beside me, looks of concern etched into their faces. Farkas visibly brightens at seeing me awaken. "Vilkas! What happened, brother? Where did you go?"

"I… I saw the past, brother," I say in a croaky voice. "Thoring—some water, please," I ask, and he complies, handing me a canteen which I tilt down my throat, letting the cool liquid soothe my scratchy throat. "Thank you."

"Now… what? You saw the past?" Thoring asks, interested.

"I saw it—Worldcarver being taken for House Kjarten, my great grandfather dead on the ground. I saw it all, Thoring," I say finally, draining the canteen. "Then… I heard something tell me… to retrieve the hammer. It said that it was my birthright."

Thoring beams at me. "That is… certainly amazing! If this is true, then perhaps you will be able to unlock the powers that were put into it in its forging! We must head for District 1 at once!"

I try to manage a smile, encouraged by Thoring's enthusiasm, but that doesn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I do not doubt that this will not end well—but I will pass this off for another time. Standing up shakily, I move to get my horse ready to move out.

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><p><strong>And there we are, chapter twenty-four. I've decided to switch things up a little, we've had non-stop chapters of Thorin and Katniss so why not one to show what's going on outside of Panem with the Wildlings? We got to see a little insight into the past, of how things were before the rebellion, when the Houses were still at odds with each other. We saw the legendary weapon Worldcarver, a mighty hammer supposedly imbued with amazing powers. But what are these powers, and is Vilkas truly the wielder?<strong>

**All that will be revealed in time. I wanted this chapter up last week, but I actually got a new computer so I was trying to move everything over, and thus I wrote this one to keep you guys entertained. **

**Anyways as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time!**

**~Jordan**


	25. XXV: We Remember

**Disclaimer: To this very day I still own nothing of this story except for the OCs and portions of the plot.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXV: We Remember<strong>

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><p><em>Hadrian "Thorin" Marlowe<em>

District One is not very different than District Two, in the sense that it is large and undeniably run by a larger force than the Capitol. However… it seems much more joyful than District Two; when our train pulls into the station, I can see that House Kjarten's banners are not only displayed proudly, but many of the residents also bear the massive emerald green sea serpent slithering across a field of a deep aqua blue in some form on their body.

But most of all—the people of the District seem to enjoy the fact that they are in House Kjarten's dominion; in fact, many of them seem proud of it. Those that stay to greet us actually greet me warmly with a customary bow from the Mountains; in truth it is rather warming. I am sure they do not know of the animosity that my House bear—or bore, I should say—for their rulers.

This warm welcome was not what I expected, I must say, at least for me; Katniss I could see them welcoming, but least of all me.

After all, I killed both their tributes, having practically gutted Marvel—well, there's no practically, I suppose; my sword had pierced him so many times that his entrails were hanging through his back. I have no qualms about this, and have thus elected to say little, if anything.

The District is incredibly impressive, though not surprising for a place known to be the Capitol's lapdogs. Tall buildings climb nearly as high as those in the Capitol, and reflect a similar sort of architecture, though not without the stone greys that are an essential colour of Mountain-folk. There are many round, dome-like buildings rather than sharp-cornered ones, not unlike how places of importance are carved in mountains. These must be places of work, as there are many openings that billow out smoke; I am not sure what the District's exports are, at least not in detail, so I cannot say what sort of buildings they may be.

Most buildings have long windows, spanning much of the sides that face us. The interiors are luxurious and very cutting-edge, near Capitol-level, but the mountain influence is obvious. Many of them have large fire-pits in the middle of their sitting rooms, which are also very large typically; for every five or so houses, there is at least one smithy in between them. Each building proudly flies House Kjarten's banner.

I have rarely felt quite so welcome and unwelcome at the same time.

Tristyn and Alexander guide Katniss and I to the District square, with a healing Skald and a few members of House Sunglass and House Tawney, bannermen of House Kjarten that seem to have a great amount of respect for my House trailing behind and scouting a little further. Among them are Devan Sunglass, the House's heir, and his betrothed, Miranna Tawney, who are both very friendly and actually regard me quite honourably; according to them, Marvel was a "tall little shit" and they were pleased to see him gutted.

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><p>The population of the District is incredibly massive. There's at least twenty thousand people gathered here, all here to see my speech. I notice, moving amongst them, that many of them bare features of Mountain-folk: dark hair, grey eyes, and muscular bodies. A few openly carry weapons like swords and axes, and even warhammers and bows. It's a little unnerving, to know that there are thousands of people before you that could kill you if you so much as stepped out of line.<p>

I squeeze Katniss's hand gently, more for my reassurance than her own. Tristyn and Alexander walk before us, the Sunglasses and Tawneys forming a bit of a perimeter as we move onto the stage. They back off slightly, but still keep around us in such a manner that they could rush to defend us if the need arose; Devan gives me a roguish grin as the crowd suddenly goes silent. Bright lights swivel around on platforms before shining on us as camera crews move into position to watch us.

And that is when he appears, a man who can be none other than Lord Nikolas Merser. He's incredibly tall, no less than seven and a half feet in height, and solidly built with broad shoulders and large hands that move constantly in sweeping gestures, as if he's pantomiming using a warhammer—which, to my understanding, is his weapon of choice. He's dressed in a charcoal grey suit that seems to counter his natural, untamed look. His long black hair flows unbound over his shoulders like a dark waterfall, and his left eye is an oddly pale blue, the right grey, but it doesn't seem to fit his face.

The people of his District seem to respect him, much in the manner as those of District Two respect Lord Aurelius, but these people appear to truly love him. He speaks to them as one would speak to their children, with much affection and care; it's no surprise that the District loves him, for he loves them—or at least seems to.

After the typical speech of how great the Capitol is and all that bull, Lord Merser bows to the people and withdraws, giving us the microphone with a smile that looks somewhat grotesque.

Katniss takes the microphone first. "People of District One—though I cannot speak from personal experience, as I never had prolonged exposure to your tributes, I do not regret their deaths." This is apparently not a shock to these people. In fact, some seem to laugh at this, as if it were expected. "I realise that this was a fight or survive game, but to kill an innocent child in such a brutal way is unforgivable," she says loudly, forcefully.

I chime in with, "Life, death, balance it may be," I say, reflecting on House Sunglass's words. "Justice and honour reign above all." I finish with House Tawney's words.

"And it most certainly was not honour with which he struck her down. He could have at least fought on fair ground, rather than catching her whilst her back was turned!"

"And that is why I do not regret gutting him like the fucking—" Alexander's hand clamps around my mouth as I let out a few muffled grunts. I relax a little and he drops his hand, slapping me on the back once for good measure and giving me a dark gaze, not quite a glare.

"Now, Glimmer—she is a different story. I only exchanged words with her once, and in mocking," says Katniss, "so I will pass it to Thorin."

Sighing I take up the microphone. "I had spoken with Glimmer multiple times throughout the training sessions. I will not go into details on what was said, only that she had attempted to seduce me more than once. I'll admit, at the time it wasn't exactly unwelcome," this earns a few laughs from the audience, "but at the same time, it did not spare her. When the time came for me to assault the pack and buy time for Katniss to escape, she simply happened to be the lookout, and thus it was her that died first. I cannot say I regret it, nor do I relish in it; it was… necessary. But nevertheless, for this one I shall apologise."

This earns applause from some of the crowd. Lord Merser steps forward and thanks us, congratulating us once more. "Now—as many of you know, it is my son Byrant's nameday today, and I would like to extend the invitation to Hadrian and Katniss, as well as their guards, to join in the feast."

"We accept," I say at once, "and we thank you for your generosity and hospitality, Lord Merser." Alexander, Tristyn and Skald all murmur their assent, and Katniss nods, not knowing the proper way of accepting such invitations.

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><p><em>Nobody<em>

The Wildlings arrived in District One astride massive destriers early that morning. They had been given shelter and food out of the generosity of the Mountain-lord, being housed only a few rooms away from Lord Merser himself. Fifty of them had rode in; Farkas and Vilkas Payne, Thoring Grimm, Frederick Marlowe, and several other members of many different Houses; the Wildlings are not a picky bunch. There were Aureliuses and Marlowes, Paynes and Grimms, Sunglasses, Tawneys, Shawneys, Allyrions, Tullys, just about one form every major House.

Lord Nikolas had given them an immense amount of hospitality, seeing that each was fed like royalty and well-acquainted with the members of his House.

But Vilkas Payne held no love for these people, especially when he saw Lord Merser's heir.

Bryant Merser was no taller than Thoring, but much more lithe than the old Wildling commander. Long black hair styled in a similar manner to his father's spilled about his shoulders, but two piercing frost-blue eyes gazed cautiously from his tan face. One long horizontal scar ran parallel to his chin from the bottom of his left ear to the bottom of the other.

Yet what got Vilkas the most was the weapon he carried. It was none other than Worldcarver, the weapon of the Paynes, forged by Tyrfingr Arnthorrsson in the flames of Vvardenfell. When he saw it the young Payne nearly reached for it, but his better judgment prevented it. Farkas turned and looked at his brother, and his expression said it all. The greatsword wielder nodded shortly and hurried off to speak with Frederick and a few other Wildlings.

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><p><em>Hadrian "Thorin" Marlowe<em>

"Sunglasses! Tawneys! Paynes, Grimms, Allyrions, Shawneys, Tullys, Marlowes, Aureliuses, Sprytes, Blackfyres, Peakes, Pykes, Boltons, Hornwoods… the list goes on and on! We all are gathered here today as honoured guests at the nameday feast of my son and heir, Byrant Merser!" calls Lord Nikolas from his seat at the head of the dining hall. "I would like to thank you for your presence, it means so much to my children and I. Now please, set aside any enmities that you may have for one another and feast! Drink, laugh, have fun! To the Mountains and their folk! May we endure forever!"

At least ten thousand mugs are lifted from the long tables and clanked together with a loud roar, before all is silenced for many gulps. I number among these ten-thousand; at my right is Alexander, to his right is Tristyn, and then Haymitch; to my left is Katniss, then Skald and Frederick. We have been gathered in the base of House Kjarten's seat, in their great hall.

It's massive; it would put Ered Luin's gathering hall to shame, I am sad to say. The ceiling is high and curved, with many chandeliers wrought from iron and emblazoned with gems of many colours; the Kjarten serpent dances on every wall, at least fifteen banners on each side, and one massive banner hanging behind Lord Merser. Roaring fires blaze in every brazier, casting a warm glow over everything; servants bustle around carrying trays of mugs and platters of food, and a chorus wanders around strumming on lutes and guitars, singing loudly:

"_The fate of us all lies deep in the dark_

_When time stands still at the Iron Hill!_"

They sing of the long-ago skirmish between the Capitol and the Mountain-folk of House Ragnar, in which they decimated an entire legion of Peacekeepers before losing their lord at the hands of then-President Hrolf Allyrion, a corrupt man who ended up in this effort being useless as his daughter turned around and married the next son of House Ragnar. I have to laugh a little at the irony of this song.

At my side, Katniss is more than a little tense; she has never been around so many Mountain-folk; the gathering in Ered Luin is the most she had ever seen, and that was not even a fraction of how many are present. But that isn't what's off; she and I both know it.

Whispers have been passed around, of rebellion, betrayal and murder—all targeted at Lord Merser's son Byrant. This seemingly amiable young heir has not earned many friends, it seems; but most disturbing of all is that these whispers seem to have originated from the Payne twins two tables away. I know that it is Vilkas's greatest wish to reclaim Worldcarver, but would he truly be willing to murder someone just to get it back? His brother seems to have doubts about this, and at least be less than enthusiastic about this. Farkas has always been more sensible.

Jon Sunglass, Devan's cousin, sits across from me; it is him from whom we hear the rumour. He's a soft-spoken man, but he seems to be rather interested in this plan. He's ridden with the Wildlings since he was fourteen, and now ten years have passed and he seems to trust Vilkas's judgment above all else.

As the night draws on we drink, eat and laugh; more than a few brawls break out. Jon Sunglass grins at me from across the table as Devan knocks an Aurelius to the ground with one punch. "We drink, we fight; we make our ancestors proud!" he says quite happily.

At the end of the evening, before we must return to the train, we respectfully make our way up to the Lord's table and, bowing before him, thank him for his hospitality. He accepts our thanks with a smile; we then bow before his son and give him blessings on his nameday, which he very graciously accepts. I was right—he is very likable; there is no way that the usual kind-hearted Vilkas could want to kill him.

There is something wrong with Vilkas; something wrong with this whole ordeal. But we must return to the train right away; there is no time for me to question this. But with all my might I pray to Ather, Oion, Enir and Ofmjir that they will not follow this crazy notion; there must be some other way.

But should this whim be followed, then I fear for the future of our people.

* * *

><p><em>Nobody<em>

The calm, placid eyes of Vilkas Payne fall across those gathered before him at the long wooden table; the nameday feast ended several hours ago, and all have returned to their respective places. All except the Wildlings, who have gathered in Thoring Grimm's sitting room, which can barely fit them all.

Fifty of them around a large table, speaking in hushed tones as the sounds of a bard's drum silences them to any who may try and listen. "I'm telling you, Rydan Shawney! Arin Storm is the key to this plan," argues Jon Sunglass, slamming his fist against the table. "You saw how Merser fought to get his bastard brother at the table, despite his protests, didn't you? Lord Nik is sending Arin with us on the next ranging; if we can get Byrant to see his brother off…"

"Then we can kill him as soon as we're out of the gates," finishes Vilkas coolly. Despite Thoring's occasional input and stern expression, it is clear that Vilkas is in charge in this moment. "And Worldcarver will be in the hands of its rightful owners once more."

"Then it will be done!" says Bran Morrigen. "But who is the question?"

It is his brother Hakon who speaks up. "I will—urp!—do-o-o it," he slurs drunkenly.

A few laughs go around; Hjalti Hornwood spills his mead, and Vignar Tully simply says, "Sit down, Hakon!"

"Why yes sir, I will have a-an-another!" burps Hakon before putting his head on the table and dozing off.

"I think you've had quite enough," replies Vilkas in an even tone, the sheer way he said it making people laugh.

Farkas, however, frowns slightly. "Brother, I have just one question about all this."

"Yes, little brother?" asks Vilkas, his look softening.

"Why can we not simply ask him to return it? Surely if he is of any sense he will realise that Worldcarver belongs to House Payne," he wonders. Vilkas smiles slightly at his younger brother.

"If only all men were like you, Farkas. Good-hearted, knowing right from wrong," replies the elder Payne brother, "but the world is not like that. Things are not returned simply because one asks for it back; if they are stronger than you, they will keep it until such a time you can _take_ it back… and this is that time."

Farkas frowns once more, but nods. This is not his brother, but he knows that there is no way to dissuade him; this is a man driven by the urge to reclaim something stolen from him. "Of course brother… forgive me," he says finally.

"There is no need for that, brother. Your question was justified; I know your heart, brother, for it is also mine. But these people have something of ours, a part of our home; I will have it back," says Vilkas, standing up at once. "Will you have it as well? Will you help me take back what belongs to us?"

"Aye!"

"For the Mountains!"

"We remember!"

The men all stand and pound their chests furiously, the young Payne having appealed to their true hearts at the root of the Mountains. In that moment there was no doubting their bravery and courage, and Vilkas had never felt so proud, nor had Farkas ever been so inspired.

These men epitomise the true spirit of the Mountains, battle-ready to defend what is theirs.

Theirs is the fire; theirs is the strength, the willpower.

They are the Mountains, and they remember.

* * *

><p><strong>AND THERE WE GOOOOO! Stuff's starting to pick up real fast as we get closer and closer to the start of the 75<strong>**th**** Hunger Games; we're moving into another phase in the story in which we start to explore other characters' sides of the story. We'll be seeing a lot more of characters like Farkas and Vilkas, Tristyn, Alrek, Ulfric, and all sorts of others who have yet to be introduced. After this next chapter it will be mostly past-tense in the writing style, simply because I think it fits better for the sort of narrative I'm going for.**

**Anyways in this chapter we saw Thorin and Katniss's visit to District 1, where we meet Lord Nikolas Merser who seems to be a genuinely good Lord, loved by his people and very hospitable, as well as his bannermen and sons. However, we also see the Wildlings again, and Vilkas has finally found Worldcarver, and has managed to convince the Wildlings to help him kill Byrant Merser in order to get it back. Will his plan work? More importantly, what are the consequences if he does?**

**Buuuuut as always thank you all so much for reading, feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time!**

**~Jordan**


	26. XXVI: What Was Stolen

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. Though many characters and plot details are products of my own imagination, I'm simply borrowing the other details.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXVI: What Was Stolen<strong>

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><p><em>Nobody<em>

"Father, I would ride out with Arin, to see him off," says Byrant Merser, kneeling before his lord father. He has attired himself in chainmail armour with iron pauldrons on his shoulders and iron bindings around his stomach as well as iron leggings; at his side rests a long sheath with a shield bound to it. His long black hair spills out over his armour as he raises his head to look at his lord father. "He has been raised as my brother, and I would see him leave as such."

Lord Merser smiles at his eldest son before rising from his seat, walking down and placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "If that is what you wish, then you will do so; you are a man grown in the eyes of all now, and I cannot stop you. You have a good heart, my son; I know you will make a great lord someday."

"Thank you, father," says Byrant with a low bow before looking to the corner of the room, where his bastard brother Arin Storm was now heading through to meet with the Wildlings.

"However—I do ask that you take some men with you," says Lord Nikolas.

It is Devan Sunglass who steps up; "If it pleases my lord, my men and I will gladly ride and protect your son." He kneels before the Lord of House Merser to show his fealty, though he conceals a smirk under his long locks.

Lord Nikolas claps his hands together; "Well! I do believe that is settled; heir Devan will take nine Sunglass men and ride out with you to see your brother off," he rubs his chin in thought for a moment. "Also, I do believe another will come with you; yes—take the Shepherd along, I do not doubt he will fulfill his title and lead you sheep home safely."

An imposing man, only half a head shorter than Lord Merser himself, steps forward, broad chest covered in a large cuirass of bronze plates folded over one another, with similar bronze leggings; an immense greatsword is strapped to his back. His head is covered in a dark hood, and his chestplate is engraved with the boar of House Grell; however, his name is known to all as simply, "The Shepherd."

Devan grimaces a little; this had been an unexpected wrench in the plan. The Grey-Kjarten lords would not be pleased—he has to roll with the punches, so to speak. Composing himself he bows once more to Lord Merser, then to the Shepherd. "As you say, my Lord," he says to Lord Merser, then to the Shepherd he says, "and you, Lord Shepherd; we depart within the hour."

The Shepherd gave a silent nod. Lord Merser smiles at the boy and nods, waving his hand dismissively. "Go then, Devan. I thank you, child of the Mountains."

A sharp pang hits Devan's heart; what he is to do seems to go against everything he was taught as a child.

But he knows that this is for the greater good, for the safety of not only his kind but the world as well.

And for that, for those millions of lives that would be saved by the action, he will kill.

* * *

><p><em>Vilkas Payne<em>

It is all set; Merser's heir Byrant is to ride out with us to see off his bastard brother, and Devan Sunglass is bringing his own men to back us up. Worldcarver will rest safely in the hands of House Payne once more. What was stolen shall be returned.

As we saddle up our horses and make final inspections on our armour, weaponry and supplies, securing the additional rations so generously donated to us by Lord Merser. Whilst his hospitality is certainly appreciated, it must be overlooked in favour of what is right. Do I feel bad about it?

Somewhat, yes. Do I enjoy the fact that an innocent life must be taken away, especially when the innocent life belongs to a very good person? No, I most certainly do not. In fact, my stomach is a pit as we prepare to ride.

Looking over to my brother, who was born not much later than I, I wonder—does he feel the same?

Does he dread the inevitable slaying of Byrant Merser?

With a sigh I move to the front of my faithful steed and run my hand along his snout, speaking to him soothingly in the language of the Mountain-folk. He whinnies softly and nuzzles me back. I smile somewhat as I move to his side and climb onto the saddle.

Old Thoring has gotten into his saddle as well and is taking his place at the front of us. The fifty Wildlings and twelve soldiers of House Kjarten have all mounted, and we await Thoring's command.

"_Kul do strunmah, mu zor!_" Thoring calls, pulling a broadsword from his belt and pointing it in the air; the steeds take off in a thunder of hooves accompanied by the roar of the men departing. Soon the cool hair hits our faces, surrounding us like the breath of some giant living being. It is night, and insects buzz and hum in their evening symphonies. Soon a song rises up between us too to ward away the solitude of night.

"_Smashing through the boundaries  
>Storming through the burning fields<br>Stand before the evil one, on towards the molten sun  
>Falling under skies of pain…<em>"

It's a quiet call at first, fast-paced as we slowly build our speed. Farkas rides beside me atop his massive white destrier, grinning as we break into a gallop. "Brother! This is the freedom we were made for!"

I can't help but grin back as I reply, "Aye, that it is dear brother. Now—now we ride, and wait for the day."

"_Far away will our eyes now see the day  
>For today, the everlasting eternal sun<br>Washed away the dreams of a brighter day  
>Forever hold the dream inside the chance to fight another fight<br>The breaking hearts that stand for all our lives  
>Live tonight<em>…"

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><p>We're about ten kilometres from the gates of District 1 when we stop to part ways. Arin vaults from his horse and walks over to his half-brother with an absolutely malicious grin on his face, whilst Byrant smiles back seemingly obliviously. The Shepherd and the Sunglass troops dismount, standing in a line behind the heir and the bastard.<p>

"I will miss you, Arin," says Byrant kindly as the fifty Wildlings and I dismount.

"And I you, Byrant," replies Arin, his hand digging into his vest.

Byrant smiles at his bastard brother. There's a muted sadness to his eyes, as if he knows this was coming. "I'm not going to fight back, Arin."

These seven words bring Arin to a halt right away.

"What…? How could you…?"

Byrant's smile only widens, though the sadness is more pronounced. "I know you, Arin. We may only share the same father, but that means nothing; we are closer than brothers, you and I," he explains. He turns his back. "Do it, little brother. Quickly now, father will be expecting you back."

"What is this?" demands the Shepherd gruffly; this is the first time I have heard him speak. "Lord Byrant, I ask that you mount your horse once more; we should be on our way."

Devan Sunglass draws his sword, and many of the Sunglasses follow suit. Several more load up crossbows or bows; a few of our own men leap from their horses with battleaxes, swords, and warhammers readied. "Shepherd, I ask that you shut up. What's happening is Byrant's dead and, well, so are you."

"Is that so?" says the Shepherd calmly. His greatsword is in his hands in an instant, flashing in the bright moonlight. "I await your blades, then. I knew that the Grey-Kjartens were not to be trusted."

"Give Kjarten himself my regards!" roars a Sunglass soldier, slicing at the Shepherd. With relative ease the Shepherd steps to the side.

"You will meet him yourself," says the Shepherd, beheading the Sunglass. Several bolts and arrows lance at the massive man and most pierce him, but he seems relatively unfazed. With his greatsword he engages in a deadly dance with several Sunglasses and a few Boltons, moonlight glinting off their weapons making it seem like it were a battle of stars. Markas Bolton is next to fall, getting his skull smashed by the hilt of the Shepherd's greatsword; Bronn Stackspear is gutted by the Shepherd immediately after the Bolton falls, and not much later Daman Sunglass loses his arm before being struck by a stray bolt.

We lose at least seven men before the Shepherd's guard is finally down; as he raises his sword to strike down Dannen Bolton, heir of the House, Devan Sunglass charges in and drives his sword directly through the Shepherd's chest.

When I turn back to Arin Storm's confrontation with his brother, I see that through the heir of House Kjarten's back there is a sword-tip gleaming, though it appears as if he has impaled himself rather than his own brother. Sticky red blood oozes onto Arin's hands as tears roll down his face; the first kill is never easy, especially when it is someone you cared for deeply. "Byrant… brother… I'm sorry, so s-s-sorry!" he sobs, staring into the eyes of his brother.

I notice, just for a moment, Byrant's hand come up to rest on Arin's shoulder, and his mouth moves but I hear no words; and then he goes limp, his head laying against Arin's chest before finally sliding to the ground as Arin removes the sword. Devan looks worriedly at Arin; the two have long been friends, from what I gather.

The silence that has fallen after the deaths of the Shepherd of Grell and of Byrant Merser is broken, finally, when Devan Sunglass speaks up. Clearing his throat, he says, "Vilkas, the hammer is yours. We shall see to the corpses, yes?" he asks his men, who nod in response.

My brother sees Arin to his horse, whilst I move over to the corpse of Byrant Merser. "I am sorry, friend; nothing I have done was against you. You and I—we had no quarrel; you were but an innocent, and I fear there would be thousands more if Worldcarver were to remain in the hands of your father. Forgive me, Byrant Merser; may we meet again in the Hall of the Slain—for there is no place for one like me on the Isle of the Blest," I say, taking the hammer from its resting place on Byrant's back and holding it in my hands.

I hear the voices of hundreds of men before me, the Last Paynes, who defended the King with sword, shield and body. My grandfather, Asgrim Payne, who fell at Starkport against the Kjartens and lost Worldcarver originally; Tormund Payne, slain at Urik Galik Forest, known in the common tongue as Tall Pine forest—once called Shawnee Forest, where the House of Shawney now resides. Styr Payne, killed by usurpers from House Bolton in an attempted mutiny against King Thorvald in the halls of Erebor itself.

A certain sense of duty and honour floods into me like a raging river—swiftly and with a dangerous sort of power to it, one that leaves no room to stray. It's a newfound responsibility toward not just my king, but to my men as well; turning around, I look directly at Arin Storm, my newest charge. He leans against his horse, a pale white charger, sobbing into his arm; he keeps whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I step next to him and place a hand on his broad shoulder, causing him to look up at me with stormy grey eyes; how fitting for one with the bastard surname of Storm.

"Arin Storm," I say softly; he greets me with an incline of his head. "I am sorry, Arin," I continue, my eyes softening, "this wasn't exactly how it was supposed to turn out. I had hoped we would not have to slay him—Byrant, that is. He was an amiable fellow, and I had no quarrel with him. If he had simply handed over the warhammer—"

"That's a lie," says Arin sharply, his hand moving to his sheathed sword. "Ser Rydan, he—he told me that I was to kill Byrant!"

Frowning, I turn sharply to Rydan Shawney and give him a withering look; massive Jon Sunglass, called the Smalljon, grabs him by the tunic and slams him against a tree. "Smalljon, release him," I say wearily. It's not a lie, what Rydan told Storm—not completely, at least.

We had never meant for _him_ to kill Merser; it was to be one of our loyal men who had served among our ranks for years, perhaps Robyn Allyrion or Vignar Tully, or even the Smalljon. Even so we had never meant to kill him right away; we had planned to take him with us, as a hostage of sorts, to insure our safe passage out of Lord Nikolas's reach—and then we would kill him.

But it was never to be Arin; we know how fragile his mind most likely would have been; even with the disdain he was likely treated with by most of the House Kjarten bannermen, he would no doubt have been sorry to leave. After all, this was the only home he had ever known; why would we heap something on him as cruel, as harsh as the murder of his brother with the other loss so fresh in his mind? The answer is quite simple: we would not.

"Arin. We had no plans to kill him, not yet; this was his own doing," I say, looking him in the eyes. They are clouded and dark, brimming with floodwaters of tears. "Your brother threw himself onto your sword, yes? You did not stab him?"

"R-right," says Arin after a tense moment, visibly relaxing; his eyes are still cold. "He impaled himself…"

"What did he say to you, lad?" asks the Smalljon abruptly. His nephew Devan and several others look at him. "Byrant—he said something to you before he died. What is it?"

"He said…" Arin says, stopping for a moment to think. "He said… 'Carry the flame;' that and… um… something about a ninth wave."

"'_Full of voices comes the ninth wave…_?'" questions Rydan. Arin Storm nods. "It's part of an old song, one usually sung by the Grey-Kjartens of old. Usually used to rally their troops to them, if I remember correctly; but the Grey-Kjartens were disbanded ages ago by Lord Edric Merser."

"They were headed by House Sunglass," says Devan quietly. "My great-great-grandfather Willam Sunglass was their last leader, before Lord Walder Ironwood betrayed them at Starkport."

"Aye, my great-grandfather Ramsay Bolton was there," agrees Dannen Bolton, who leans on his greatsword, "Ol' Iron-balls Walder stuck him right through the heart. Had his brothers killed as well; only his youngest brother Roose Bolton survived it."

I smirk a little; it was folly on the part of the Ironwoods to allow Roose Bolton to survive it. Once he took up the position of lord regent in the stead of Ramsay's child—Dannen's grandfather—he led the remaining forces of the Grey-Kjartens and slaughtered all of House Ironwood.

Devan Sunglass and his men stay behind to take care of Byrant's and the Shepherd's bodies as we head back into the wilds, where we are most at home. As we ride off, I can see Arin looking behind him at the walls of District One, at what was his home. I see a tear slide down his cheek; he will come to embrace the wilds, in time. I know he will.

After all, I was in his shoes once—a boy leaving the only home he ever knew. I know how terrifying it can be, how overwhelming and saddening. I know.

* * *

><p><em>Hadrian "Thorin" Marlowe<em>

The return to District Twelve has been long-awaited and incredibly welcome. Tristyn Flowers and Skald Blackfyre have accompanied us thus far, and have pledged to continue doing so as my sworn swords, the latter as a gesture of good faith in forgiveness for the lack of contact between our Houses, for his House is sworn as bannermen to mine. The Blackfyre sixth-born had gone ahead of us with Alexander to inform my mother and family of our arrival, whilst Tristyn remains with us as we head toward the District square. There's a large gathering of people, and the sick sound of something cracking; my stomach is a mosh pit.

Something is wrong—that much is sure. My eyes catch sight of a freshly-built gallows, with one man hanging from a gibbet nearby, a few crows pecking at him. I lay a gentle hand on Katniss's arm and look her in the eyes so much like mine, "Katniss—stay here. Tristyn…"

"I'm coming with you." Tristyn says abruptly.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Katniss agrees, "now go."

We start pushing our way through the crowd, a few people, particularly those of our mountain, part to let us through.

Finally we reach the centre of the mass, all giving the two people in the middle of the square a very, very wide berth. Two posts are stuck into the ground with a shirtless man kneeling in between them, his arms bound by his wrists and tied to the posts; behind him is a new face to me—a Peacekeeper that I have never seen before, whip in hand and preparing to flog him more.

As the victim's growls of pain meet the air, I hear the voice of someone precious to me—someone that I have, admittedly, neglected since my return from the Capitol.

Gale Hawthorne.

"Cease this at once!" I roar, stepping out of the crowd toward the Peacekeeper, who turns around.

He looks rather like a lion—an Aurelius, that is. Cruel grey eyes, short silver hair that had certainly once been blond, and a wispy, almost cartoonish mustache are affixed to his short but muscular body, and he is very tanned. "And who are you to be interfering with Capitol business?"

"Hadrian Marlowe, victor." _And one of the true rulers of this District_, I say in my thoughts but not aloud. "And I demand to know why you are harming my friend."

"Caught him poaching. Tried to sell me a turkey he got from the wilds," he replies with a sneer. "That's illegal, you know?"

"And who are you? Where is Cray?" He simply smirks at me and returns to Gale, raising his whip. "Don't. Don't you _fucking_ dare," I say harshly. "This stops now, you understand?"

He lashes out and whips Gale once more—and then with the force and swiftness truly befitting a wolf, my fist impacts the side of his face, sending him to the ground. In a daring move showing defiance to the Capitol, I pull a knife from my pocket and cut Gale free. He spits out a little blood and grins at me. "Thorin. Thought you'd forgotten about me…" he coughs a little.

"Like hell I would," I say with a grin of my own, grabbing him gently and lifting him up. I help him over to Tristyn who takes hold of his other shoulder and helps me carry him back through the crowd, with Katniss walking at my side. The crowd is silent; they can't believe it—someone who has been gone for several weeks simply waltzed in and knocked out this cruel Peacekeeper.

But I fear that I have made a grave mistake; whilst the Capitol may overlook this offence, this Peacekeeper will certainly not take kindly to it…

Especially if he is an Aurelius.

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><p><strong>That's a wrap, everyone! I'm sorry this chapter got so much longer than usual to get out, but I've had a lot on my plate. I've been sick, my dad's birthday was a couple weeks ago so I went to visit him and my mum, and then I just straight up wasn't particularly sure where I wanted this chapter to go. Anyways we saw, in most of the chapter, the depths to which people will go in order to get what they want—Vilkas having Byrant Merser killed just so he can reclaim Worldcarver, for instance. We got to examine a bit of Arin's reaction to his killing of his half-brother and how it can really affect someone. We also heard some of the histories of the Mountain-folk, including the Grey-Kjartens, a special division of House Kjarten's most elite bannermen, and learned how some of the politics of the other Houses work—specifically Lord Ironwood's perpetrated murder of most of the Grey-Kjartens (and if any of you noted his first name, you can easily draw a line between it and <strong>_**Game of Thrones**_**). **

**Anyways as I was actually reviewing some of the story I actually noticed some unintentional parallels I've made between the Houses of this story and the Houses in **_**Game of Thrones**_**. For instance, our main characters, of House Arnthorr, are very much like the Starks of Winterfell, and even have a wolf for their banner; those of House Aurelius are very much like House Lannister, with the lion for their sigil and they're also utter assholes. House Narfi, with their stag and unwavering loyalty to those they consider the true king, bears striking similarities to House Baratheon.**

**Aside from that we also got to see more of Thorin's furious protectiveness of his friends, as seen when he angrily struck Romulus Thread when he caught him whipping Gale, consequences be damned. It's that sort of Thorin I love writing; whilst it wasn't the graphic, maddened by grief sort of Thorin that we saw upon Rue's death, it was a seething Thorin, embodying the wolf that is House Arnthorr's sigil.**

**Anyways as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time!**

**~Jordan**


	27. XXVII: The Stag and the Serpent

**Disclaimer: Twenty-six chapters have come and gone, and you still think I might own this? "Will I ever own this?" you ask, so unsure; quoth the Jordan, "Nevermore!"**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXVII: The Stag and the Serpent<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin<em>

Damn Snow, damn him! To the deepest bowels of Surein's Maw I will drag him for this slight against Katniss and I. There is no coincidence in this—this is something he has planned himself, the cunning old bastard.

This year, the Seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games, is particularly special in the Capitol, for it is what is called a Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years. Every Quarter Quell has its own special theme, and this year's was no doubt previously chosen by the president himself.

The short of the matter is, Katniss and I are going back into the arena. Each District is going to have to pick two random Victors in their own Reaping to send back, and since Katniss is the only female Victor of our District, there is no doubt that I will be going in as well. I cannot deny, however, that this truly is a stroke of pure ingenuity—surely he doubts that we will pull such a thing a second time, especially with Seneca Crane dead.

But this shall not go unheeded, mind you. It is a generally accepted motto amongst the Mountain-folk that, "One day I'll repay in kind."

And repay I shall.

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><p>The day of the Reaping has come quicker than I had hoped. Whilst Gale has been recuperating in our mountain with his family staying with us for safety, the punishments of Romulus Thread—the new Peacekeeper—have gotten harsher and harsher, no doubt in retaliation for me striking him. Though we are constantly assuring the people of our District that we stand with them against Thread, with every day counting down to this one their confidence wavers; they wonder if, when Katniss and I are gone, Thread will relent, even slightly.<p>

He won't—I know he won't. If what Arwen has told me about his heritage—that he is the nephew of Lord Aurelius—is true, then he will not back down. If anything, he will only be harsher on them. The Aureliuses are notorious cowards; if they are not challenged directly they will not back down.

And that is why when I step up valiantly to volunteer, I see him smirking most arrogantly at me. Sneering at him, I covertly tilt my head toward Lord Sigurd of House Tully, a visitor to pledge his allegiance to our House should war break out. Thread's evil grey eyes look toward the strapping lord, who is now very furtively brandishing a war-axe, and Thread's smirk drops like a stone. As loath as he is to admit it, Thread knows this is not his District.

Rather than Effie Trinket being our escort, in her place is a very short woman named Glisten with ridiculously fake purple hair, and on her blouse is a pin of a serpent. She too is very upbeat and overexcited, but there's a certain malevolence hidden in her mismatched eyes; one is grey, the other is a very synthetic-looking green, like the fabricated foliage they produce in the Capitol's gardens.

That one grey eye and the serpent pin are enough to tell me that this woman is also of the mountains, and most likely from a vassal House to the Kjartens. When she brought Katniss and I up to the stage and held our hands up to the crowd, I felt her nails digging sharply into my skin and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from growling at her. We embark briskly to the train to take us to the Capitol once more; they do not afford us the luxury of final words to our loved ones.

I have to admire Snow, no matter how much I hate it. He's removed our escort that we knew and loved, he is sending us back in the arena, _and_ made it so that we cannot speak to our families or friends before we leave. Any normal person would have been broken by this.

But not us. Though Katniss is not of the mountains, she has the fortitude of Arnthorr himself. She will not bend, and whilst Katniss still breathes I will not surrender.

* * *

><p>The sounds of the train's wheels rolling along the tracks at high speeds are like a death knell, but for whom I do not know. But it shall not be for us, I swear on it.<p>

However, this will be different. These are seasoned Victors we are going to be facing, and unfortunately Uncle Gaius is one such competitor; it is not that I fear him, rather that I fear he will sacrifice himself for us—and as confident as I may seem, I hate the thought of others dying for me. Thresh has done it—and I still hate myself for allowing it; Holden did it, leading the Careers away from me so that I may rendezvous with Katniss and Rue; and in a strange way, Gerry also did it, being slain by me so that I may gain information on the Careers.

I see them every night, I admit, when I go to sleep; sometimes Katniss wakes me from these dreams, telling me that I was talking in my sleep. Then she will lay beside me and we will speak softly to one another until we finally can rest.

I want no one to die for me; but for Katniss, for my _jud do strunmah_, my queen of the mountains, I would pay the price a million times over so that she may live.

Haymitch, Katniss and I have gathered in my room, though we had to force Glisten to leave us be. Haymitch was permitted to come along as a mentor, which is surprising.

"Snow planned this," says Haymitch immediately.

"Did he now? That couldn't be," I say sarcastically, but still good-naturedly. I smile slightly. "We're well aware. There's no way he would let such a slight as our Games go unpunished."

"Not to mention when you struck Thread," Katniss adds, "or how you publicly denounced the son of District 2's mayor."

"Not some of my best moments," I agree. "But I only did what was right. Thread might have killed Gale, and Cato was a craven."

Haymitch looks completely serious. "This isn't a joke. He didn't just see this as a blow against the Capitol, but _against himself_, and he is a person who can hold a grudge," he says; there's a reflection of something in his eyes, and at once I can remember. After Haymitch's Games, where he so cleverly used the forcefield around the arena to his advantage, Snow had Haymitch's family and girlfriend murdered.

I have to laugh, but it is cold and humourless. "So as of yet, he's just been toying with us. This is all a game to him," I decide.

"And you're players now," Haymitch agrees. "Every Victor who has ever had a thought of their own is playing. But this is no average game; there's no middle ground here. You either win, or you die."

"Or you make up your own rules," interjects Katniss, a slight smirk on her face.

* * *

><p><em>Ulfric Spryte<em>

It was my deepest regret when I volunteered once more; leaving Jorunn in her grief, and with Asgeirr in charge of the bannermen… it was not something I wished to do. However, Asgrimr and Svan are too young to lead, and have not the battle reputation of the Gold-Stag.

And Jorunn… no matter how precious she is to me, if I can deal some sort of blow to the Capitol, I shall do it.

After sending a letter to Alrek Greystark in District 11, it came to my knowledge that Podrick Bracken had volunteered to aid the Marlowe. Wonderful; four Mountain-folk in the Games… and we are worth at least ten other residents of Panem.

Now that I think of it, if Marlowe is in, then Tristyn Flowers has likely entered himself.

Mentally I begin to make a list of all those I know to be in the Games. District 1's representatives are Cashmere, Victor of the 64th Games, and Raynald Merser, Victor of the 52nd; District Two has, unsurprisingly, selected a loyal Aurelius—Alys Grell—and an older Victor named Brutus; District Three, I am unaware of; District Four has Finnick Odair and quite possibly the oldest living Victor, a woman named Mags. I remember Father once told me about her, that she won through pure cunning.

District Five is sending Aesa Blackfyre and some old drunkard whose name I don't know; Six is sending in Gaius Marlowe and Brienne Stanner. From District Seven, Tristyn Flowers and Johanna Mason are going in; District Eight is giving some Fenn girl and an old man named Woof. Nine shall be sending a couple of Capitol-lovers, utterly obsessed with their "infallible overlords." From Ten I and Elaena Bolton shall come forth; Eleven is sending Podrick Bracken and an old woman named Seeder, who was a force to be reckoned with in her own Games; and of course, Thorin and Katniss are coming in from Twelve.

Loyalties are a mysterious thing here. The only ones I trust are the Marlowes, Tristyn and Podrick. I do not fully trust Elaena, Aesa, Brienne or even the Fenn girl. Raynald Merser is the son of Lord Nikolas, and as such I plan to see him dead by the end of this; House Grell is known for its unwavering loyalty to House Bjalfi and intolerance for dissent. Alys Grell will be no different, for if she were she would likely be dead.

Already from my own memory I can imagine the first moments of the Games. Cashmere will likely come for Gaius first, for he killed her brother in the 63rd Games. Thorin will sweep in almost at once, most likely aided by Bracken, Flowers or Katniss; it is unlikely Cashmere will survive the Bloodbath. Elaena Bolton won her Games by a fluke, having been the only survivor of a disaster that killed off her competition; she will not last long. If for nothing but their old age, I do not expect Woof, Mags or Seeder to survive for more than a few days; I have already decided that the Merser is mine to take.

The serpents have never been a friend to us. Our long-lasting feud had been mended, once, a hundred years ago by my great grandfather Ulfar and Daven Merser, before they were betrayed and murdered by their guards, starting a new war and hatred between our families. Though I do not enjoy this bloody past of ours, perhaps shedding a little more will ease my own pain.

My father will be avenged; I have no doubt his murderer was employed by the serpents. I will attempt to quench my thirst for their blood in this Games, though I will doubtless find myself wanting for more and more. Reaching to the locket on around my neck, I open the clasp and pull out the slip of paper, unfolding it.

_The snake and the stag will dance to their deaths,_

_Bite of snake, bane of the stag,_

_Horn of stag, the slayer of the snake._

_Evermore are they at odds,_

A biting chill runs down my spine as I read the final line:

_And evermore will they shed each other's blood_

* * *

><p><strong>AAAAAANDDDDD there we go! So, this is more of a short transition chapter, and I'll be honest with you, this was sort of a pain to write because I'm still trying to figure out where I want to take things during the CapitolCatching Fire part. As you can probably tell I've messed with the tribute roster big time, but there's a method to my madness.**

**Anyways I'd like to apologise for only two chapters in two months, but I think I mentioned in one of the past chapters that I needed to get a new computer, and it's been giving me a bit of a hard time lately. I got it fixed, but now with finals coming up I'm not sure quite how often I'll be able to update, but I plan to be at least into the interviews by Christmas.**

**So in this chapter we got the lead-up into the Reapings and then the tributes being almost immediately forced onto the train; but really, this chapter, at least in my mind, was more about Ulfric (props if you know where I got the name from). He's going into the Games in the place of the nameless dude that died on like the second day or something; in fact, I'm putting in the Mountain-folk in the place of nameless contestants or contestants who died on the very first day. So, before I go, my question for you, my faithful, beloved readers is this: how do you think this will change up the Games and the pre-game stuff, like the hand-hold-circle of solidarity (or whatever the hell you wanna call it).**

**Anyways as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time!**

**~Jordan**


	28. XXVIII: A Feast for Crows

**Disclaimer: I'm still Jordan. I'm not Suzanne Collins, I'm not J.R.R. Tolkien, I'm not George R. R. Martin. I don't own anything.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXVIII: A Feast for Crows<strong>

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><p><em>Raynald Merser<em>

_Evermore will they shed each other's blood._

What this means I can only assume; my lord uncle was very mysterious when he told this to me. But I do not believe it was a coincidence that the Young Stag himself has entered into these Games.

The fact that I am here in the pools as well leads me to believe that the dance between stag and serpent has begun.

I am the serpent, the bane of the stag; Ulfric Spryte is the stag, the slayer of the serpent. Our eternal dance is slated to commence, with the ringing of our swords to be the tune played throughout our endless ball. For all time, in the eyes of the gods, he and I will battle.

We'll gambol through the halls of Cynera, the goddess of war; she'll urge us to fight on by slinging insults like arrows and showering compliments like rain, and when one of us is about to win, she will cause us to miss our blow and force the battle on. We'll fight 'til our bones ache and every one of our muscles is screaming, and when we're about to drop she'll heal us.

But our battle will go on and on, as ages pass and the wheel of time turns. Houses will die, nations will rise and fall, and still we will fight on.

We will die at each other's hands, and we will be born again; we will have no rest.

And this is where we make our stand.

Uncle Nikolas has promised me that; he will see to it that our fated dance shall take place, and our deaths will usher in a new era of supremacy for House Kjarten. Since my mother's death he has been ever-so kind to me, looking on me not as his sister's son but as his own; I know he will not lead me astray.

Even as I look at myself in the large mirror in my train compartment, I know he speaks the truth. The years have not been kind to me; where I was once broad-shouldered and packed with muscle, I've gone soft and grown large with wine and food. Sluggishness fills my steps, and my arms ache when I try to spar.

But Uncle Nikolas speaks naught but the truth.

On his word alone I will find the strength I need, I will be rejuvenated.

For him, I would—no, _will_ fight and die. I will be the one who gladly gives up his life so that my lord uncle's whims can be fulfilled. He saved me from being ward to the cruel lord of House Shawney (who died not long after) and made me into a true Victor of the Hunger Games, and for that I owe him my life.

He has promised me the glory of eternal battle, my one true craving, and for that I would pay any price.

Ulfric Spryte is mine, and mine alone; he is my prey, I am the hunter. The goddess Kyelia will guide me down the path, give me the strength and stealth to strike him down. The bloodlust, the thrill of the hunt is what she governs over, and it is that gift that she gives freely.

Cashmere knows to stay out of my way; it is Gaius Marlowe whom she seeks. Her dear brother Gloss was slain by him, so she wants revenge. Uncle Nikolas agreed to this, saying that if Gaius is slain it will break the Marlowes' spirit as well. Their late lord's younger brother is well-loved amongst them and will be sorely missed.

In order to remain in the Capitol's good favour, my lord uncle has expressed the necessity of slaying Katniss Everdeen and the Marlowe boy; I will leave that to my lowers, though. The murdering of mere children is beneath me—and I also knew Marlowe's father, Lord Josurr. A great, beloved man was he, and I daresay he and I were friends; often do I miss him.

Do I feel that I am betraying him, letting Cashmere plan the murder of his brother as she has? That I can so easily toss his own son and his _lokaalat_ to usurpers—vicious lions, scheming boars, sly swans, even a treacherous phoenix—so that they may be killed? Somewhat; but nonetheless the boy and his mate will end as a feast for the swarming crows. That is an inevitable fate, Uncle Nikolas claims.

When he informed me of my mission, he said something akin to that.

"The crows are the final victors, that is the truth of the matter," he said solemnly as we laid his son and heir to rest, right after putting the Shepherd into his tomb. He then turned and looked to me with a fire blazing in his eyes. "But we shall see that our enemies find that out swiftly, and most excruciatingly. They slew my son, _my SON_, in cold blood and stole his inheritance!" he was angry, terrifyingly so; I said nothing, lest I face his wrath as well. "Dear nephew," he said, calming down, "it is for this reason I ask you to volunteer. I do not wish to place you in such mortal danger, for you may as well be my own son, but…" he unfolded the note and handed it to me. "You are the bane of the stag, I believe. Therefore, I task you with ensuring that our enemies _pay_." He looked at me with cold grey eyes.

"Do not deny the crows of their well-earned feast."

I shuddered when he told me that.

I will not fail him; to do so means certain death—whether it be by his hands, or someone else's, I would accept the sword-swing with readiness. One does not fail an order given by Nikolas Merser; the Shepherd did, and he was slain, along with several of Devan Sunglass's men, by the Wildlings. Even Heir Devan is on thin ice; but due to the favour his father had curried with my uncle, he has managed to keep his head—for now.

Yet I digress. If my assumptions are correct then the typical Career alliance will form, though it will be comprised of a majority of Mountain-folk and those trusted by our kind; the only ifs are the pair from District Four—Finnick Odair and Mags. There are no Mountain-folk to my knowledge in the seaside district, and thus I am not sure where their loyalties will fall. But it is no matter, for they are but sacrifices to the gods, means to a swifter, better end.

I have been tasked with a mission from my Lord Uncle, and if I fail, I will not survive.

I will not fail.

Though my body may have grown fat and weak from when I emerged victorious last, my willpower is not to be challenged. With the promises of my uncle, and the good graces of the gods, I will emerge victorious in my fight with Ulfric Spryte; but it is not my place to win these Games. I will help along the Grell girl for as long as I can, but I will die by the end, that much is for sure.

My duty is to hold Ulfric Spryte's spirit, to battle him for all eternity. I am to die for this destiny, but I will go to the gallows with honour; I have fought with valour and strength, all for the good of my people. I will do so just one more time; I do hope the Capitol shall enjoy this show.

For I promise, at the end of this Hunger Games, there will be a feast for crows.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright guys so we're calling it there today, just thought I'd throw in a quick little chapter before I have to start studying for finals. Just a little introduction to Raynald Merser; I really got the idea for this chapter on a whim, kind of thought it would be interesting to write up a sort of thought process for Lord Nik's plant. As you can see, he's the blindly loyal type.<strong>

**Anyways for a chapter so short, there's not too much to say. So I'll just call it there, and now for my usual farewell!**

**Anyways as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time! If I don't see you guys until Christmas, then merry Christmas if you celebrate it, if not, then I dunno what to say besides "you heathen…" just kidding I love you guys!**

**~Jordan**


	29. XXIX: Into the Night

**Disclaimer: Despite my valiant, nonexistent attempts at acquiring the rights to this stuff over break, I still own nothing. Even the clothes on my back were bought as a Christmas present.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XXIX: Into the Night<strong>

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><p><em>Thorin<em>

His lover's hair is in his face as he wakes up, and he lets out a soft sigh as he inhales the lovely scent. _Her hair smells like the forest_, he thinks. He nestles in a little deeper and gives her a light squeeze, and she wriggles about just slightly.

"You snore, you know," she whispers lightly. "I always thought someone was just forging late into the night in the mountain, but it was your snoring all along."

He chuckles, and she curls closer into him. "Good morning to you, too," he says simply.

"It would be better if we weren't going back into the Games," she says. "I doubt they'll let us pull it off a second time, especially now that Crane's dead."

He grimaces. This isn't something he wanted to think about, but it is an undeniable future. "I know."

She turns over and faces him. "I'm not letting you die for me."

He smiles back at her; it's a sad smile, one that nobody wants to see on their loved one's face. "I know," he repeats.

Katniss looks into her beloved's eyes, and he looks back. It's like looking in a mirror, he decides. Their eyes are so similar; same colour and shape, he wonders if she has any Mountain-blood in her.

He remembers seeing them, tear-filled, after Rue's death. How her cheeks glistened as she and he sang to the dying girl, and how she broke down after Rue's eyes finally closed. He never saw how she sobbed after he went his own way until the recap of the Games.

In that moment he felt a pang of guilt, and gave her a quick, passionate kiss. "I love you," he said after a moment.

"I know," she said with a grin, rolling him onto his back and straddling him.

* * *

><p><em>Skald<em>

Haymitch had bid him to go wake his liege lord, for they had finally reached the Capitol. It is already rather late in the day and Thorin and Katniss have already missed breakfast; though Skald has not spent much time with Thorin, he knows that it is unlike his lord to miss a meal. As he strolls down the housing car and toward Thorin's room, he hears the unmistakable sounds of passion beyond that door. A grin comes across Blackfyre's pale face.

Should he disturb his lord and friend in the throes of passion, or should he let the Capitol wait? _As if that's a hard decision_, he thinks. _Fuck the Capitol, fuck the president_. _Let them wait_.

Skald Blackfyre shoves his hands in his pockets and walks back to the dining car, to find Haymitch waiting for him with a wicked grin on his face. The purple-haired escort, Glisten, is nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the kids, Blackfyre?" Haymitch teases, taking a swig from a flask.

"You knew they were fucking," states Skald matter-of-factly.

"Of course I did, I was the first one to go check on them," replies District 12's only other Victor.

Skald rolls his eyes. "That was over a half hour ago. I've never known a man to be able to get it back up that quickly," he says.

Haymitch starts chuckling; Skald resists the urge to punch him. "The way your liege lord is, I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't stopped yet." He drinks deeply this time. "Quite charismatic, he is. And I thought Sigurd was a grandmaster at that." He grins.

"So where'd Glisten go?" asks Skald, snatching a bowl and filling it with orange juice. The wine provided by the Capitol was undrinkable to him; a little too sweet, actually, and there was nothing to warm it up with—the Capitol wouldn't provide anything that could harm the tributes. If he couldn't have hot wine, then there was no point to the wine, he had told himself long ago.

"Damned if I know. I told her to get outta my sight… and there's the lovebirds!" Haymitch says. Skald turns his head and sees that Katniss and Thorin have entered the dining car, both looking quite bedraggled. The elder Victor and the Blackfyre grin at them.

"Don't say a word." Thorin says dangerously, but Skald can tell from the look in his eyes that he's actually joking.

Blackfyre grins at his lord. "Well, milord, I hope this doesn't become a habit in the Arena. Don't want to be caught with your… _pants down_?"

"Your mother is a hamster and your father smells of elderberries. Take a seat, Blackfyre," Thorin teases.

Blackfyre grins back. "Well pardon me, milord, but I believe I'm the one that smells of elderberries," he says, laughing.

* * *

><p><em>Thorin<em>

If there is one thing in the Capitol that he is excited for, it is seeing his aunt once more.

However, the price of meeting with his aunt was a fierce scrub-down by the prep team. Plucked from the clutches of his lover and paraded through the Capitol only to be dropped back into the jaws of Capitol vultures bent on tearing away the facial hair he'd spent months attempting to regrow after the last Games, this is not something that he enjoys.

It is the same group as last year, though their hairstyles have changed greatly, but he can still recognise their faces. They are a bit wary of him, no doubt remembering last year when he bit them for trying to shave him; this is good, he decides. Fear is a powerful tool.

He is, however, rather surprised to find that they have not tried to inject him with anything. Remembering last year, he would have thought they would have attempted to put him out quickly; perhaps they have been put under orders by his aunt.

After they're finished, they release him to go speak with his aunt. As soon as he is in the room, he is embraced in a bone-crushing hug. His aunt's smiling face is a beacon in the dark, shitty night that is the Capitol. He returns the smile. "Aunt," he says after a moment.

"Nephew," she replies just as happily. "It is wonderful to see you. I would say that I am sad, but this is something I knew would be happening. You would not let your mate go in with Haymitch."

"I would not," he agrees.

"It is not in our nature," Arwen nods. "I am afraid we cannot speak much here. The Capitol is like the night," she trails off.

"Dark and full of terrors," finishes her nephew.

Arwen smiles. "That is the last thing your father said to me, you know." There's a sadness in her eyes, Thorin notices. Does she see Josurr when she looks at him? How much does she miss his father?

Deciding to change the subject, Thorin takes a quick look around the room; austere with white walls and little decoration—it could have been the same room as last year for all he knows. "Things don't change much here, do they?"

"No," his aunt agrees, motioning for him to sit. "Nothing except the ideas. And even then that is quite rare."

"Until you and Cinna came along."

"Correct. And this year we're not changing it—too much," she adds. "We're basing it off the same idea of fire, but I think he and I have worked out something that Snow will certainly enjoy."

Her grin makes Thorin slightly uneasy; it reminds him too much of Lord Aurelius. Remembering that man's smile, his voice, Thorin has to suppress a shudder as he recalls what he said when they first met, _My men are everywhere_; perhaps… no, no kin of his would be so depraved as to ally themselves with the Old Lion, he was certain of it. He stares at the white wall for a moment, letting his thoughts run their course; should he have accepted Lord Aurelius's offer of a non-aggression pact—should he have at least told his family about this? That was a grave err; he should have mentioned it, certainly.

But he would not make it out of this Game, he decided; that pact with House Bjalfi was the least of his worries.

"What are these plans, dear aunt?"

She grins wider and he loses any doubts about her; that grin of hers is not one that would belong to a lion.

She is a wolf, through and through.

* * *

><p><strong>YAHOOOOO hey everybody, Jordan here. It's been awhile, yeah? I'm real sorry about that, but there's been some… family issues as of late. I'm not going to go into specifics but know that this story is not abandoned! I know I said I wanted to be at the Interviews by Christmas but that obviously isn't going to happen. Anyways I don't really have too much to say here besides the fact that I'm going to be posting a sort of character appendix soon—similar to what George R. R. Martin does at the end of his books, where he lists who is related to who, what House they belong to, etc. <strong>

**Anyways as always, thank you so much for reading, everyone. Feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time!**

**~Jordan**


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